


The Earth Is Not A Cold, Dead Place

by Heroesareoverwith



Series: Explosions In The Sky [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cages, Finally, First Kiss, First Time, For reasons, Fourth Book!!, Good Peter, Hunters, Hurt Peter, Kidnapping, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Shooting, Teasing, This is my favorite book, Torture, a bit of orgasm delay, almost original character death, and more to come and stuff, kinda hurt/comfort, lots of making out, so many things, steter sex, yes please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroesareoverwith/pseuds/Heroesareoverwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has been captured by hunters, and with no way to let Stiles know.  But that's alright, he'll get out.  He always does.  Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Breath After Coma

**Author's Note:**

> Okay woo! Book Four! Alright, so this is the good stuff, I promise. I am fixing things.
> 
> Also, this first chapter is named after my FAVORITE Explosions In The Sky song. Like, I don't think you realize how much I love this song. If you listen to any of the songs, please make sure you listen to this one. It is beautiful, it is gorgeous, it is an eargasm, I promise. Plus, it's the song that inspired this entire series. This piece of work wouldn't exist without this song and that amazes me. I can't believe I have written this much oh man it's been a journey.

Somewhere over Peter's head, lights flickered in their sockets.

The werewolf forced his eyes to open, and even though the lights were dull, the brightness still made him feel dazed. In fact, he felt queasy in general, his head spinning. Whatever kind of wolfsbane had been injected into him really did a number on him. The wolf's head lulled to the side, too heavy to pull up all of a sudden. His hands and feet tensed uselessly around the chains locked tightly to the chair. Somewhere over his shoulder they were set up to a generator. The chains were tied more loosely around his chest, his legs, but that didn't mean he couldn't still feel an electric shock from them. The chair was metal, and bolted to the ground in several places.

Peter had been trying to plan a way to get out for weeks, though his actual attempts had only been more recent, only after he’d been moved to the chair. He was surprised that he was even still managing to keep on in the condition that he was in.

No, though, it hadn't always been this chair, these chains. It had been a cage, originally. They'd needed to tire him out first. Starve him, dehydrate him. It was only after two weeks that they had finally dragged him out of the cage, ten people strong even with him on wolfsbane, and managed to chain him to the chair instead.

They'd electrocuted him, cut him, electrocuted him more, injected him with wolfsbane, shot him. But he was an Alpha again, and these weren’t fatal actions, and so far they hadn't actually tried to kill him yet, for one reason or another. They had to be keeping him alive for something. They wanted his pack, wanted him to talk, wanted him to show them something. Not that Peter actually gave them anything. When he wasn't gagged, he was quiet, or making small, irritating, snarky remarks that usually got him hit in response. It was worth it, their physical hits didn’t feel like much of anything anyway.

But they hadn't killed him, they needed him for something though Peter wasn’t sure what, and he could handle torture. Hell, he could handle death. There was no way that death was going to keep him down. It didn't before, it wouldn't again. He found something much more necessary than revenge to come back for. Something even more necessary than self-preservation.

The last thing he'd said to Stiles was something worthless, trivial. Something along the lines of “you're an idiot.” Then again, weren't last words always something you regretted? Then again, how were they last words? Peter would get out of these chains, eventually, he would break out of wherever they locked him up, and he would destroy each and every soul in here, preferably by crushing their heads in.

Peter would get out, and he would get back home, and immediately contact Stiles. He would upgrade his security and start building a real pack so situations like this didn't happen again. He’d be smarter about all of this. He would keep Stiles in his sight and never let the teen go again.

God, they'd been getting better, really getting better. Stiles had told him that they were still going to have a talk when he got back to school, that not everything was settled, and Peter would need to really prove his loyalty this time around. Stiles wasn't just ready and willing to forgive him, but he was aware that it had, inherently, been a mistake. Peter had made a mistake.

Now, Peter had dropped off the face of the planet. Instead of working to prove that no, Peter would never hurt Stiles, Peter disappeared and stopped texting him. For all Stiles knew, Peter fled. But the teen probably wouldn't guess that. No, Stiles wouldn't guess that. Stiles would know. Stiles would know that something had gone wrong. Stiles would know that Peter had been captured. And Peter really hoped that Stiles would know to stay away. Stay away until Peter got free, and could come back for him.

Then Peter would really prove everything he could to the teen, in every way possible.

***

Peter had woken up as he heard the deep rumble of the Jeep outside. His hand reached out, absently, sweeping over the still-warm bedsheets that Stiles had vacated only a few minutes ago. The werewolf wasn't sure how he hadn't woken up when Stiles had gotten up, walked around the apartment, left. He should have woken up, he needed to have woken up. But no, Stiles clearly wasn't waiting around for him. Stiles was upset enough to leave. Peter shouldn't go chasing after him, especially if the boy needed space, and he most certainly would need it after the events of that week.

Taking in a breath, Peter got out of the bed and scrubbed a hand down his face. It was only belatedly he remembered his discovery in the mirror. Honestly, he hadn't been too concerned about it, hadn't thought about it that much because Stiles was more important, and Peter needed to take care of him. If being Alpha meant he could provide Stiles with better care, if that meant that he could help Stiles the same way Derek had helped Cora, when Peter was still using manipulation to find his way back to Alpha, when he still wasn't sure if Scott was a True Alpha, then he would do that. He would give it all back up for Stiles to survive and be well.

Peter might even drain all his power, give everything up and be _human_ if it meant that. It was another terrifying truth.

He got up either way, wandered out into the living room just to be sure. And there were three people spread out among his furniture, but no Stiles. The teen had taken all of his things and most certainly left. But would Stiles be okay to drive?

The werewolf went and shook Thomas awake. The boy flailed wildly, looked up at Peter with a glare, but then looked suddenly confused. At least he was smart, at least he knew that Peter wouldn't approach him, leave Stiles' side, unless something was wrong. Thomas immediately stood up and looked around the room, noted the absence of Stiles' things.

“Where did he go?” He asked, already grabbing his keys and sliding on his Converse.

“I imagine back to his dorm room,” Peter answered, crossing his arms over his chest, though standing awkwardly, unmoving otherwise, in his own empty space in the living room.

“Yeah, and why aren't you going after him?” Thomas' brow furrowed sharply.

Peter hesitated, then turned away. “Time, space, mostly. Just follow him to make sure he's alright. I don't want him passing out on the way back and crashing.”

“Good call,” Thomas said and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, glanced back at Peter. “He'll be okay, yeah? I'll make sure of it. Just...don't be a dumbass while we're gone.” And then he was gone too. Peter kind of wanted to crush the kid's windpipe.

As a distraction, Peter went back to his room, ignoring the sounds of Jaylen and Mizuki waking up behind him, and headed for the bathroom. He looked awful, and tired for once. He'd drained plenty of his energy as he had been constantly pulling pain from Stiles. But when Peter focused, pulled the power from inside to allow his eyes to change, there was that same deep red color. He was an Alpha again. But how?

***

It was unnatural how obvious Stiles' absence was in Peter's life. After Mizuki and Jaylen had woken up to discover that Stiles was gone, well, they'd gotten very mad wondering how he got through Peter's werewolf senses before they were settled enough to think rationally and actually leave his apartment. The wolf was left with nothing. No one to eat all of his food, no one to take up all the empty space, no one to talk to Peter because “even at your age socializing is important and you're right on your way to becoming a hermit. Have you ever seen the old men hermits in the movies? They're terrifying and completely insane wearing animal furs around a fire in the woods. Actually, you'll fit right in.”

Too many times Peter had caught himself smirking at something in a book, or watching something on TV, or hearing something on the radio that made him want to turn to Stiles and discuss it. But the boy wasn't there. It was unsettling, and Peter suddenly realized what it meant to be in a real relationship, or to feel the loss of one. Not just family, a relationship. And the first few days had been torture when he didn't even know if Stiles was alive.

Of course, Peter wasn't accepting the fact that Stiles could die at this point, so he knew, somewhere deep down, that the boy was alive, and was probably home, and knowing Scott and John, it was a disaster, but still. Peter had paced his apartment for two days waiting for Stiles' answer, and when it came he finally felt like he could breathe. Except, he was still left with the absence.

It was always what he wanted right? Disconnection from the pack, practically an Omega life. Except he was an Alpha now. He couldn’t afford to live an Omega life, or he’d be more vulnerable than ever. He needed to begin building a pack. But that was not something he was bringing up with Stiles over the phone. It wasn't something they should talk about, not while the boy was so...Peter needed to step delicately on this thin ice between him and Stiles. Becoming champion Alpha of California wasn’t a good place to start, not yet.

So he kept himself occupied, and he texted Stiles when Stiles wanted to text, and he called Stiles when Stiles wanted to call, and other than that, he waited. Summer was going to be a long, terrible thing as Peter spent every day with his same old routine. Wake up, run, shower, clean, cook, eat, read, research, clean, sleep, wake up-- it would all go back to normal. All before Stiles.

It sucked, to put it colloquially. Though he did it. And he listened to Stiles tell him all about Beacon Hills over the phone. He listened to Stiles talk about his father and Scott, apparently they were speaking again though not as attached as they had been previously, and the rest of the pack. Stiles talked about being home, and the monsters, or lack thereof, that the pack had been handling since he went to school. Apparently Scott and Derek had been in some kind of communication, and Derek was discussing coming back to his home, setting up permanently, reestablishing the Hale name, but under Scott's Alpha expertise--Stiles had said it with as much sarcasm as Peter could hope for. Stiles talked about his wound, about how it was healing nicely. He had been able to do a few spells on it himself, although it sometimes hurt to do magic.

Stiles didn't talk about what Peter wanted desperately to talk about. But the wolf didn't bring it up. They didn't talk about the betrayal, about where Stiles placed them in his mind at this point. Peter could have sworn before he screwed it up that maybe Stiles was even starting to--those small touches couldn't have been for nothing, right? There were too many hints and signs that Peter had been ignoring. And now he had most likely wasted his entire chance. The chance that Stiles might actually feel something...

***

All in all, his moping and pining lasted about two weeks.

It wasn't that he still didn't feel the sting, it was that he acknowledged this was not something Peter Hale would do. So instead, he put himself to work. He began going through book after book, trying to figure out just what had happened to make him Alpha. Well, that, and he increased his workout routine, running longer and farther, pushing himself with pushups, crunches, created his own rigorous routine that matched his new Alpha self.

It felt fantastic.

He could feel the power coursing through him, just the same as it had years ago. But it was different this time. It was--Peter wasn't sure how to explain it. There was no blanking out, no random surges of emotion, no constant buzzing in his head, or incoherent thoughts. Instead of feeling like he was missing half of himself, he felt more connected, more grounded. He felt powerful, but at the same time he felt whole. He felt like the fire was inside, rather than outside. The Alpha power felt more _pure_.

And no energy had to be used, and used again to keep Peter healed. He didn't have the scars like he'd had before, body hadn't been burned practically dead and useless like before. He wasn't in a coma, screaming at himself in his mind day in and day out like before. No, when he had gotten this power, he hadn't been desperate enough to kill a family member. He'd been defending Stiles, and his own honor. He'd been making sure Stiles was fine.

He couldn't find a book that told him exactly what had happened, but there were various ideas of alternative ways for a werewolf to become Alpha. They weren't proven, however, except for the True Alpha idea, obviously, but even that had been myth more than truth before Scott proved it to Peter. Any of these ideas could potentially work. He couldn't find much on seers, and he couldn't find anything on a seer making a wolf an Alpha. So he was back to square one.

After Peter felt fairly secure with his new routine, he began to cut out his territory. It was large, reaching up to the boarder of his family's old land, and down toward Los Angeles. Alright, it was a fair bit larger than the Hale's old land, but at the same time, nothing came to revolt against him. He would just need to create a big enough pack to be able to hold the land successfully. Which, of course Peter would do after he had the rest figured out. After he had Stiles taken care of.

Would Stiles want to join his pack? Or would he buddy up with Scott again?

These were thoughts for another day. Peter was driving himself mad with racing “what if”s involving the teenager. It didn't particularly stay in the realm of joining Peter's pack, however. What if Stiles decided he was done? Wanted to head back to Beacon Hills permanently? What if he refused to be around Peter but stay at the school? What if Stiles completely changed, started fighting against the werewolf? Found out Peter was Alpha and decided to hunt him down? Then again, what if Stiles found out that Peter was Alpha and wanted to join the pack? Actually wanted Peter to change him this time? What if Stiles came back and it was like nothing changed?

It was too much.

Between worrying about Stiles, and dealing with his new found power, Peter was apparently too—distracted--to notice that he'd brought attention to himself. He wasn't sure when, or how, but he'd managed to get on someone's radar. Maybe it had been happening for months and he was too _distracted_ with the seer to focus on them. The seer had effectively, every time it had shown up at least, gotten rid of the scent of other possible followers by its enormous foul presence. So it was possible that Peter missed some things. It was also possible he had been too absorbed in Stiles to notice. The boy was dangerous, and this was the entire reason why Peter had been satisfied with being alone up until this point.

Stiles was a distraction.

It was almost a shame Peter liked him so much, weakness and all that.

Either way, Peter only caught a whiff of his new stalkers once it was too late. He went for a run in the woods, a remote area that he'd discovered he liked best, the enormous trees bringing back a primal need and desire in him, the sweet smell of living things, but also the dank, bitter decaying smell mixed in. And water, the fresh smell of water. The woods made an ache in Peter's chest grow, but it also brought some relief to the wolf in him. He was at home in the woods.

The problem was, he was still an Alpha without a pack. He couldn't join Scott's at this point, two Alpha was impossible. And he still wanted Stiles without the necessity of securing a spot in Scott's pack, huh. And yes, the wolf wanted to wait to talk with Stiles before building a pack, but waiting wasn’t a bad thing as Peter did want to make timely decisions on his new recruits, even if it was risky. He needed a Beta first, and needed the Beta promptly if he planned to make a living as an Alpha, before word got out and someone tried to overthrow him. But again, Peter wasn't going to be a Derek. This needed to be smart.

So much for trying to be a better Alpha and not rushing in.

They'd managed to mask their scent. The snipers had to have been there since the day before, hovering in the trees and waiting for Peter to go out on his run. Maybe a daily routine wasn't all that well thought out. It was much easier to keep track of. Peter heard the first guy's finger slip onto the trigger, heard it pull back. He'd immediately jumped down, eyes flashing dangerously in the direction of the noise, and the first shot missed. Then Peter had taken off toward the sound, anticipating the sound of the trigger once more, tried to identify the gun to know rounds of shots, how quickly it could fire, how fast the sniper could reload.

And then the second gun sounded. Peter didn't have time to dodge it, didn't expect a second person because hunter groups were never that organized.

The bullet connected with the back of his shoulder, stuck somewhere in the muscle there, twisting inside, splintering apart and cutting. And then Peter began losing consciousness, wolfsbane soaking his blood steam, flowing with the adrenaline all the quicker. Peter didn't even remember hitting the ground because it seemed his nerves were shutting down. The hunters climbed out of their trees, silent as could be, which was impossible, and approached Peter with masks drawn over their faces, eyes glittering triumph and tilting their heads at the downed wolf. He growled, or tried.

“What an awful werewolf. Don't understand the concept of a pack, buddy?” One asked before Peter completely faded.

***

At first, Peter had woken up in the cage. Fuzzy-headed and tired from the wolfsbane still dragging slowly through his veins. The floor was a rusted, cold metal, and the bars around were rusted too, but wrapped in barbed wire and electric fencing. It wasn't buzzing, which meant it wasn't on, but Peter didn't doubt if he tried to mess with it then it would trigger, sending an electric shock through the entire cage. The room was mostly dark, save for one flickering overhead light. The smell of mildew, rust, and dried blood was so thick he could practically scrape it off his tongue.

It was disgusting, and Peter was a bit impressed with himself that his first desire was to clean the room, rather than escape from it.

In the corner of the cage, in an act of mockery, there were two plastic dog bowls, one filled with water that must have been there a day or two, the other filled with kibble. Peter wrinkled his nose. He'd been insulted worse before. He'd also been kept in worse conditions by hunters. The werewolf sighed, and tried to sit up, groaning while his head began pounding behind his eyes. Fucking wolfsbane. Bane of his existence, ha ha ha. Even his internal monologue sounded far too dry.

The space between the floor and the top of the cage definitely was not big enough to stand up in. The wolf assumed he would be hunched over a lot, which was most likely what they desired. He attempted to stretch out nonetheless, reaching up and pulling his arms back, lengthening his spine as much as possible by arching his back. It felt good, but there was a sore ache deep inside each one of his muscles that he couldn't seem to work out. He probably wouldn't until the wolfsbane wore off.

It was only after all this that Peter tried to focus enough to listen in on the perimeter of the building, no, focus on using each of his senses. As good as his nose was, he couldn't smell much past the rust and mildew, it was far too strong. His eyes, well, he of course couldn't see past the walls, but there wasn't much in the room aside from the cage; it wasn't a very big room. There were no vibrations transferring between the floor to the metal cage either. Wonderful, this would be a pleasant experience.

His hearing, at least, did prove useful, as much as it made his head ache to hone in on. Peter closed his eyes as he reached out. He heard at least nine heartbeats inside the building, possibly more outside. The building was large, probably some old abandoned office building or something. Maybe a warehouse somewhere. People were talking, but the conversations were too low to pinpoint. Many of the walls had haphazard soundproofing. The people were also armed, that he knew already, but he could also hear some fiddling with their weapons. If he could get out, he could easily come up with a plan of escape.

The whole getting out part was the problem.

Peter scanned the cage again, looking for any weaknesses. The bars would be easy to break, if only they weren't wrapped in electric wire. He still might be able to do it. Then again, not touching the bars was probably what was keeping the hunters from coming in to check on him. They didn't think he was awake yet, or else why would he not grab the bars and try to struggle out? Peter rolled his eyes before looking along the walls, crawling over the floor to check whatever he could. There were definitely wires attached to the cage. Some of them went up into the vents, some down into the floor below. Two different systems then, apparently. They were most likely monitored as well. Though, when Peter scanned the room for an actual camera, there was none in sight.

Amateurs.

Smirking to himself with at least that small success, the werewolf finally reached a foot out and tapped one of the bars. Thank God for rubber shoe bottoms. There was definitely an electric shock, and Peter crouched to try to avoid the shock altogether, poised only on the balls of his feet. If he fell off balance, the experience wouldn't be so pleasant. The cage buzzed to life. And so did some running footsteps the next floor down.

The hunters burst into the room shortly after, two of them, masks covering the lower half of their faces, but one of them was grinning visibly, eyes crinkled up. This particular hunter, with a dark, near pompadour hairstyle, held up a foghorn. The other, shorter and with lighter brown shaggy hair, had a metal rod with a rubber handle, strangely reminiscent of the Argent taser rod, though it wasn't electrified. Peter tilted his head to the side, smirking.

“All this and I'm being watched by teenagers?” Peter asked, bored already.

Pompadour blew the foghorn, and Peter growled, grabbing his ears immediately. Shit, that was loud. And the wolfsbane headache didn't make it much better. He'd also now displayed weakness. Wonderful. “Shut up,” the hunter said.

“If that's what you're expecting you picked the wrong wolf,” Peter answered while trying to rub the ringing out of his ears.

Shaggy hair came up and started pounding the metal rod against the bars of the cage, the whole thing shaking and sending electric shocks out in waves, rust fell from the top of the cage and covered Peter's shirt, head, legs. The wolf's lip curled in disgust as he slowly took a few crouched steps closer to the boy.

“If you're feeling really brave you'd stick that in here. Come on, prove your mettle,” he taunted, curling a clawed finger to the hunter. Again, the foghorn sounded, though Peter didn't react as sharply this time. It was a duller sound now. Instead, he simply turned to look at Pompadour. “Did you really just come in here to make me deaf or was there a particular purpose? You really are lacking on your torture tactics.”

“We're just getting started,” Shaggy hair answered, and Pompadour glared at him.

“Don't tell him anything.”

“Oh yes,” Peter answered with a smirk. “Don't tell me anything at all. You must not be very sure of the security of this cage if you're worried about telling me the torture techniques. Scared that I'll run?”

“Yeah, good luck, we've got—“

Pompadour hit his fellow hunter over the back of the head sharply, and the shorter boy whipped around with an exaggerated “ow!” Glaring up at Pompadour like he'd stuck his cat. “What'd you do that for?”

“To get you to shut up.”

Peter watched the scene in front of him with raised eyebrows. Really? These were his captors? Maybe Pompadour was one to watch out for, but if he got Shaggy hair alone, the boy wouldn't stand a chance. The werewolf took in a forlorn sigh, staring off into nowhere. “Really, what is one poor little lonesome werewolf like myself going to do?” He asked sweetly.

Pompadour turned to stare at him. “You're an Alpha,” he stated. “You're an Alpha without a pack, we're not expecting you to do anything. You can’t do anything.”

It was impossible to stop the grin that rose to Peter's lips. “Obviously. This cage seems very stable. No doubt it will be impossible for me to get through. So there's really no point in hiding your plans from me.”

As Shaggy hair opened his mouth, Pompadour hissed, “James!” The boy closed it again before Pompadour continued. “You're really going to have to try harder than that, Wolf.”

And Peter had a name. Really, he obviously wouldn't have to try all that hard either. So he stared up innocently at his captors, eyebrows raised in earnest, hand flying to his chest as if to say “me? Try something?” How completely unheard of. Peter would _never_ manipulate his way out of a situation, nor would he ever mess with his captors' heads. They were always _far too smart_ for the likes of him. “I wouldn't _dream_ of attempting anything,” Peter promised. “Simply stating facts.”  
Pompadour reached out and grabbed James by the collar of his shirt, started dragging the boy out the door. They would be back, most certainly, and maybe James would be alone. Peter didn't really have anything to do with his time but plot escape and wait for the opportune moment. Supposing the moment came. But he had someone rather important to get back to, and he wasn't about to waste that chance.

He would get back out to see Stiles. He just had to.

***

They kept him in the cage for two weeks.

Peter didn't really put up all that much of a fight to get out because there was no point, yet. They didn't really come in and visit him, so he didn't have much time to mess with their heads, at least not as much time as he’d expected. Usually when they brought him a very meager meal or fresh water once a day, it was Pompadour who brought them. But Pompadour was smart enough not to speak to him, and whenever Peter did open his mouth, Pompadour usually fired his fog horn. It was irritating to say the least.

Occasionally though, a girl brought him food. She was young, and definitely younger than sixteen. And a hunter already, God they brainwashed them young now, didn't they?

The first time she had brought him food, she stared at Peter like he was a literal demon. Her big blue eyes wide, color drained out of her pale face. She was a pretty little thing though, petite with a short blonde pixie cut, standard hunter tight black clothing and combat boots. She tried to enter the room with a stiff bottom lip, though her arms were visibly shaking. There was that delicious smell of fear, attempted to be masked by some kind of teenage perfume. Peter tilted his head in minor amusement and confusion. The lack of food, as well as the cramped space, was starting to get to him, but that didn't mean the moment someone entered the room that he wasn't on full alert, or that he wasn't ready to pester the hell out of them.

If they didn't want him for information, what were they keeping him for? What did they want him to do? They hadn't really tortured him, or talked to him, so they must physically need him. That was, honestly, more unnerving. Maybe this girl was a test of some kind. Or maybe they did just want information and they imagined Peter would be more sympathetic to a child. They were wrong.

“Oh, so no Pompadour today?” Peter started, but the girl remained silent, staring at him with what she probably assumed were hard eyes. “I'm not going to bite,” The wolf narrowed his eyes, his lips pulling back to reveal long, sharp fangs. They retracted quickly enough again though. “At least not through the bars, they're rather filthy.”

The girl opened her mouth, just for a moment, before it snapped shut again so hard her teeth clacked together. Then she took the hooked stick from her side, placed the meat on it and reached it toward the cage, in between the bars, and just held it there. Smart girl.

“Do I scare you so much?” He asked her, plucking each piece of meat gently off the hook. Obviously the hunters hadn't advanced their knowledge of werewolves beyond meat as main food source. Peter would actually kill for some kind of vegetable.  
“You don't scare me at all,” she answered with some fire, though it was a total lie. Plucky though.

Peter smirked at her. “You know how I have superior hearing, correct?”

Somehow, even more color drained out of her face, and the girl shook her head, pulling the hook back. “I don't have to feed you, you know.”

Humming softly, Peter considered it, then shook his head. “I don't imagine that would work out well for you in the end. Obviously I'm needed for something, can't have me dying of malnutrition, can you?” She didn't answer him, just looked away, and Peter knew he was right. So they did need him. “What's your name, girl?” Again, she didn't answer, simply stared at the floor. “Is there really any harm in knowing your name? James already told me his.”

After a moment's hesitation, she finally said, “Alexandra Silver.”

“Silver, is it?” Peter asked, eyebrows raised. “One of the bigger hunting families in the United States. Next to the Argents and the Serebros.”

“And your one of the last surviving members of the Hales. You've almost been completely eliminated.”

“At least you know your information, then again that isn’t surprising seeing as you all practically live by Sun Tzu,” Peter mentioned, not hiding his eye roll. “And what exactly do you plan on doing with me? Give me something to think about while I slowly rot away in here.”

“I'm not allowed to tell you,” the girl, Alexandra, said suddenly, glaring at him. “Please stop talking.”

“Well, since you said please.” Peter rolled his eyes once more, bit into a piece of meat. “Then again, I am an animal, aren't I? Would you be more comfortable if I growled and yanked on the bars? Maybe frothed at the mouth a bit? I can make this easier on you, be the monster that you so desperately want me to be to quiet that little mind of yours.”

She scoffed, “I don't need you to behave like that. You're a werewolf, you're a freak, I already know you're a monster.” Her hands holding the rod tensed, clearly trying to convince herself, knuckles practically turning white with the effort.

“Am I your first wolf? Crazy how human I look, isn't it? I can flash my eyes if that will make you feel better, bring the fangs back. You smell absolutely petrified.”

There was another strange attempt at fire in her eyes before she hit the bars with the hook, sending electricity through them, and creating a loud noise. Peter didn't react in the least, and maybe that scared her more. She quickly backed toward the door. When the wolf in front of her still didn't react, just continued to crouch, she stared at him, got her first good look at him and maybe Peter actually posed for her, shifting his shoulders to the side, tilting his head just so. He reached out then, gripped onto the bars, and as the shock began pulsing through him, he didn't let go, didn't give in, just kept looking back, hands tightening. He'd been electrocuted enough, this was nothing. He needed to prove a point.

The girl swallowed roughly, watched him and his power, the electricity crackling around him like a storm, and the fear in her only got stronger. But there was something new there now too. There was curiosity. It was precisely what Peter was looking for. Alexandra turned on her heel immediately and fled the room, not even bothering to close the door sharply behind her. Peter got his first look out into the building he was in. Definitely a warehouse. Good, that meant easier escape points. He withdrew from the bars, tucking his hands into himself and trying to fight off the burning feeling inside him. He was an Alpha, he was stronger than a little electricity.

The next day, Peter was taken out of the cage and placed into the chair, chains laced around him expertly.

***

The first week, no one came to feed him, or give him water. No one spoke to him; apparently he’d overstepped his boundaries. Pompadour, however, came down and took great pleasure in beginning the torture. He pulled a knife over Peter's skin, drawing long, thin cuts over inches of his arms, his torso. The boy injected him with wolfsbane, shot him in the back, electrified the chains wrapped around the wolf's body. The boy did everything short of actually killing the wolf. Peter was drained by the end of the week, and no matter how many times he did try to work his way out of the chains, he was too weak to continue at the end.

Luckily, the second week was a kind of reprieve. Alexandra came to feed him, actually hand fed him, and the entire time she was shaking furiously like he might reach out to strike at any moment, and he might. She gave him water in small amounts, dressed his wounds. The first few days of it, he was really too weak to say anything. But as the week continued, he smirked, glanced down at her while she wiped wolfsbane out of a bullet hole, the light flickering occasionally over their heads. Couldn’t they spare a bit in the torture budget for new bulbs?

“You know, you're really not helping. In fact, the frantic shaking is actually making it worse,” he stated.

“Shut up,” she answered, intentionally poking into the wound.

“Ouch, well that wasn't very nice,” he said dryly.

The girl stood up quickly, walked around the chair to face Peter, and leaned down to be eye level with him. “If you don't stop talking then I'll electrocute you myself.”

“Now that's something I'd like to see. Have they let you start torturing yet? Or do they still think you're too young? Obviously you're still doing the grunt work. Maybe they just think that lowly of you.”

She slapped Peter sharply across the face before rearing back like she'd done something she wasn't supposed to, then she looked down at her hands. “I'm--I'm—“

“Training to be their next leader? You're not doing a very good job. What do they expect? You'll never get anywhere with a poor hit like that. Not to mention dressing wounds and feedings aren't really work of the next leader.”

“I'm not going to be leader,” Alexandra hissed, glaring at him. “Why on Earth would they pick me to lead them? Especially over Mason?” She then obviously realized Peter wouldn't know, and then she also realized she'd given a name away and cupped a hand over her mouth.

“Mason? The boy torturing me I presume?”

Alexandra glared as confirmation before throwing the towel she was using to clean him with into a bucket and turning away. She began gathering small things, but Peter wasn't quite done.

“You family is not a matriarchy then? When did the hunters change rule?”

“Matriarchy?” Alexandra huffed, shaking her head. “Girls have never been leaders in my family.”

“How very American,” Peter rolled his eyes. “If you were an Argent you would be the next in line, I'm sure.”

“Well, I'm not an Argent,” the girl grimaced and turned back to face Peter. There was a moment of hesitation, but that curiosity pulled forward. “They really let their women take the lead?”

“Oh, darling, I _know_ the next leader. And she won't be too pleased with your family's course of action, I can assure you that.” A slow smirk spread over his lips, and Alexandra shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “The Argent family is bigger than the Silver family, isn't it? Would certainly hate for a war to break out.”

“The Argents have been said to actually consort with werewolves,” Alexandra wrinkled her nose like that was the sickest thing she could think of. “I really don't care if there's a war. We’ll beat them. Mason is absolutely ruthless and would never consider joining forces with a wolf, no matter how sweetly they may talk or how beautiful they may look. Supposedly the Argents wouldn’t even mind screwing one.” She stuck her tongue out.

“Can't have seen many attractive werewolves then. Where I'm from baby models are practically raining from the sky.”

Again, Alexandra shifted. “You're the first werewolf I've seen.”

“Then I hope I've changed your opinion. I’m gorgeous.”

There was another attempted glare before she turned away. Well, she wasn’t about to lie to his face about that then, cute. “Mason will be back down in a bit.”

“You know, when I get free,” Peter interrupted her, tilting his head to the side, or maybe it fell. “Maybe I won't kill you, but turn you. I do need a pack, after all.”

“I would kill myself immediately, like any good hunter would!” she growled at him, but she froze when she realized Peter was smirking, looking up at her through his lashes, looking innocent as can be. She had lied. And Peter was aware of it, and she was aware he was aware. She looked at the ground quickly to avoid his gaze, to avoid the truth that she was intrigued.

“I really doubt that, dear,” Peter promised her.

***

By the third week, Peter felt he was losing his mind. Being trapped there, stuck, with nothing to do but think and endure pain, well, half of the time it was like being back in the coma. It was impossible to not slip into a mindset of racing, incoherent thoughts. There was a constant pain inside his body, his muscles screaming while trying to heal themselves but being constantly pulled back, unable to move from the same position for weeks. He wasn't sure if that pain was as bad as the pain from the wounds that weren't healing, the electricity they still pumped into him, the wolfsbane streaming through his blood. Once more in his life, Peter burned, but this time it was from the inside out.

He knew he needed to escape, ached to escape, it was necessary, but every time he jerked on the chains, his skin rubbed raw and burned, he couldn't put much strength into action. Peter was trapped, he really was. He wasted his chance to get out when he was in the cage. Why the hell had he waited so long? Why didn't he take his chance before?

What did they need him for so badly?

His head fell forward, unable to keep it up anymore. Again, he tried to pull at his wrists, tried to move his feet, tried to push up off the ground to break the bolts attached to the chair, but nothing budged. Well, obviously these hunters were far superior to the Argents, or plenty of other hunters he'd run into. But there were no other werewolves in the area, they had to have gotten experience from other packs around the country, meaning they were nomads. Five weeks would be long in one place. Whatever they were doing with him had to be coming to an end.

As Peter began to doze, he got a fuzzy picture in his mind. The wolf never really dreamed, hadn't in a long time. His sleep was dark, like blinking an eye for too long, waking up the next morning like eight hours hadn't just passed by, simply a mere second. But here, in this prison, he'd managed to get small pictures, never able to get a deep enough sleep. It was more emotion, than actual images, more blurred color than definite lines. The wolf relished in the images though, knowing somewhere deep down what the picture was of. It was warmth; it was home.

Peter's eyes snapped open with a new determination. A need erupted deep in his chest, finding it suddenly all the more necessary to get out. Yes, it was for himself, yes, it was for self-preservation, and maybe he was curious as to why he was taken in the first place but none of that mattered now. He'd been ignoring the main reason as to why he needed to get out, had just been using that reason as a way to cope, to survive, rather than to actually leave. If they knew Peter's routines, knew his life that well, they knew Stiles. And when Stiles got back to school, something that had to be within the next month or two, they might go after him. They would go after Stiles.

Peter was an Alpha now, and not a defeated one. Peter was an Alpha, and he needed to prove that worth, that strength. Peter needed to prove that he was the greatest Alpha that ever lived. Maybe Stiles would hate him for it, but it was the only thing keeping him alive, and the only thing that was going to help him get out now. Peter was an Alpha, and he had a mate to protect.

His mind got to work. He wouldn't be fed that day, most likely. And Mason would probably take a few more hours before he actually came down to begin the torture, which gave Peter time to _really_ think about the situation. He was bound tightly, but the electricity only came into play when someone was actually with him, unlike the cage. He had more strength now than he used to now as Alpha, and even half-starved and dehydrated, even wounded and burning, Peter was stronger than this. Pain was nothing. He'd lived through it before, he'd live through it again.

All he could focus on at this point was Stiles.

With all the force he had left, even if he broke his own bones in the process, Peter yanked at the chains, the chair, anything that he could possibly try to break out of so that he could leave and get back to Stiles. He had to get back to Stiles. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

All of his racing thoughts, his inability to think in a straight line, they suddenly all converged into one thing, and only one thing, taking up his mind entirely, and that was Stiles. Peter yanked, pushed, kicked back, threw his body from side to side because this was the day that he was getting out. This was the day that he was escaping, and he'd take down the entire damn Silver family line if he had to, and he probably would even if he didn’t. Starting with Mason.

Peter was getting out.

***

“You really think you're something special, don't you, Hale?” Mason asked before rearing his hand back and bashing Peter in the cheek with his electrified baton.

Peter growled low, ignoring the new pain blossoming in his cheek. He still sat in the chair, the chains wrapped around him. However, two broken ends were clasped tightly in his hands behind his back, and he assumed hidden enough that the human wouldn't know he'd actually managed to break them somewhere. This was the plan. Take Pompadour down before the others. If Alexandra and James were any indication of how the rest of the family was, it wouldn't really be that hard after.

Again, Mason reached back and punched him, a grin taking over his features. “What, Alpha? Have we finally broken you? That mouth finally run out of words? Did I knock some teeth in? They'll just grow back though, won't they? They'll just—“

This was the moment. Peter dropped the chains in his hands before lunging from the chair, ripping the chains with him, some of them flying out and smacking Mason the same moment Peter's hand grasped at the human's throat. As predicted, the human let out a scream, taken off guard at the attack, and caught completely unaware. That soundproof really did come in handy now, didn’t it? No one would hear him. Poor Mason. Obviously he wasn't so brave when the wolf was free. Peter smirked to himself, tilted his head to the side as he slowly began to lift the boy off the ground. Mason's eyes filled with uninhibited fear, his legs kicking out as he struggled, hands uselessly pulling at Peter's. After everything Mason had done to him, the teen thought that simply yanking at Peter’s hands would be enough. How amusing.

“You know,” Peter answered, looking like he was actually thinking carefully. “I have always wondered how long it would take a human to die from thirst and starvation, what it would look like. I do have the patience for it. Maybe I could...lock you in a cage as some kind of experiment for my own purposes. Or maybe I could turn you, lock you up and watch whether you live or die. Could be interesting. Never have seen someone die from the bite before my eyes before.”

At the mention of turning, Mason began to struggle all the more; the idea of being a wolf was worse than death to the boy, and Peter was more than disgusted by it. It was an honor to be a werewolf, and Peter would never grant that kind of a gift to someone so below him, someone not deserving. And Mason was not deserving. It was entertaining to at least watch though. Watch while the boy struggled so hard over the idea of becoming the monster under the bed. Peter should do it just to watch him hate himself.  
Hunters were all the same.

“Were you experimenting on me after all then?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes at the human. “It's the only logical explanation.”

The human simply sneered, reached back and grabbed a dagger. But the moment Peter saw movement, he reacted, slamming Mason into the wall and lifting him all the more. Just as Mason reached out, sliced down Peter's arm with the blade, Peter shifted his fingers up and to the side, effectively snapping the teen's neck backward diagonally, before letting go and watching him fall to the ground.

Mason wasn't dead though. No, Peter hadn't wanted him to die. But he would be paralyzed, most likely from neck down, and have several other complications. The boy may die from the wounds eventually, but it would take a long time. The wolf smirked, eyes ran over the heap of body on the ground, tears pouring from Mason’s eyes.

“You know,” Peter said, crouching down. “If you were a werewolf that would heal.”

Of course, Mason didn't respond. But something was...off, all of a sudden. It was like Peter's vision was getting splotchy. He blinked several times, trying to get the spots away. Then he felt nauseous again, though not the same as from being starved. This was much more chemical, much more reactionary. The wolf growled, grabbed the dagger used to slice his arm and sniffed it.

Wolfsbane. Lethal.

Peter was going to die in here because he wasn't quick enough for a blade. Peter was going to die in here without making it out to Stiles.

***

It was some kind of weird, hazy, half-dark. Bright light behind his eyelids as they flickered, trying so, so hard to open. But he just couldn't force them to. For a moment, Peter wondered if this was death. Constantly trying to open your eyes, but getting nothing in return. He'd been dead before, it wasn't the same as this. Maybe because he somehow knew he was coming back that time. Had he really been dead? Was he really now?

That didn't make sense. He shouldn't be able to think straight. Death meant no longer having a consciousness. It meant no longer being trapped in his mind. This wasn't a coma. This wasn't before. If he was dead, he should be dead. Not be able to think.

Until he felt like something was draining out of him. It wasn't energy, it wasn't pain. But there was something, maybe something bad, being drawn from him. Venom from a snakebite. Maybe he wasn't quite dead, maybe this was his life slipping from him bit by bit. This was the end, dying as an Alpha in some pathetic little hovel, next to the paralyzed body of his freshest victim. What a way to die for Peter Hale.

There was no backup plan in place.

There was nothing.

“Peter.”

Nothing at all.

“Peter?”

Just this weird, hazy, half-darkness.

“Peter, please, God, please open your eyes. Do not make me hit you.”

_That wasn't nothing._

The voice, Peter realized, wasn't coming from inside his head. It wasn't some delusion that he made up as a way to comfort himself as he slowly was overcome by wolfsbane. No, the voice was definitely outside, definitely drifting to his ears, no matter how faint it was. No matter how far away it sounded. And Peter was suddenly gripping a hold of that voice and trying to make his way to it, searching through spots, through darkness, through anything, to reach it again. He pushed forward, trying to make sense of who was calling him, and who it was so necessary to get to.

“Come on, come on.”

Slowly, aching like it took a life time, Peter felt his eyelids lift, his eyes scrambled to realign through the flickering light, blurred lines coming into focus.

There was Stiles.

Stiles, with those terrified, watery, doe eyes. Those long eyelashes. Those moles. Those lips being gnawed on in worry, already nibbled red. That hair. Stiles. The person who managed to capture some part of Peter and wouldn't let go. The human who Peter was so very fond of. Stiles. Beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal Stiles.

How did he get there? Maybe Peter really was dying. This was his last good thought.

“Stiles,” the wolf managed, voice as coarse as if he'd been gargling sandpaper, and slowly pulled himself up to his elbows. “How---“

Without wasting a moment, the teen clambered onto Peter's lap, long legs straddling the wolf's hips. And Peter sat absolutely frozen with confusion, or maybe he just still couldn’t move yet. At least he couldn’t react until Stiles leaned down, his hands grasping Peter's cheeks in desperation, in terror, in love, jerking the wolf's head forward none too gently.

Their lips met. For a breath taking moment, their lips met, and neither moved. Stiles' eyes shut tightly, tears falling from where they had been forming between the soft eyelashes, nearly smashing his lips into Peter's like it was the last thing he ever would do. Or was the first thing he ever wanted to do.

Peter felt his chest swell, his heart stutter, the same rhythm beating heavily in the chest of the teen on top of him. And what else could Peter do but kiss back? What could he ever want more than to kiss back? His eyes slipped closed once more, pressing his lips tenderly to the teens’, while Stiles searched so desperately with his hands to grip on and hold Peter there, so nervous Peter would pull away until the wolf didn't. Stiles' entire body relaxed the moment Peter tilted his head, lips parted.

Breathing in deeply, the scent of Stiles, their scents mixed together, Peter felt an ache inside him ease. He breathed in as much as he could while his hand rose, curled around the back of Stiles' head, and he didn't mind when the teen let of a choked whimper, pressing his lean body all the closer.

Kissing Stiles felt like living again. Kissing Stiles meant Peter was safe, made Peter feel safe. Kissing Stiles was warm, cautious, relieving, and a little bit miraculous.

Kissing Stiles was like...well, it was like the first breath after a coma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY DID IT! THEY DID THE THING!


	2. The Only Moment We Were Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles rescued Peter. How did he get there? What happens after?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty guys. So, if you do not follow me on Tumblr, than you should know that this post took longer because I am moving across the country and have been crazy busy packing and setting things up for that! I don't know when I will be able to post the next one, but you should get excited for it. But this one should explain some things! (Kinda) And it has a crazy huge range of emotions.
> 
> Thank you all for being so amazing and great and wonderful! Your comments and kudos are fuel!
> 
> Read end notes for possible triggers but also spoilers.

Stiles was mad at Peter. Stiles was mad at Peter, and in being mad at Peter, that meant that Stiles Stilinski and only Stiles Stilinski got to deal with whether or not Peter Hale got to live or die. No one was going to take that away from him, thus, someone kidnapping Peter to do what have you with Peter was completely out of the question, and Stiles Stilinski wouldn’t stand for it.

This was the thought going through Stiles' mind as he sped back down to Palo Alto after Mizuki mentioned that Peter had practically disappeared off the face of the Earth. No one was going to mess with Peter until Stiles had had a chance to chew the ear off the wolf. And even then, Stiles imagined that no one could have Peter because Stiles still wouldn't be done with him (for various other reasons that he would get to at a later and more appropriate time). And Stiles wasn't planning on being done with Peter for a long, long time.

He'd waited this long after all, he'd endured loving Lydia Martin and being rejected (multiple times), he'd endured terrible kisses, and sloppy make out sessions, and disloyalty, and so many other things. He'd handled Peter's flirting, teasing, he'd handled the required amount of freaking out it took being in love with a(n ex) serial killer. Stiles had jumped through all the hurdles necessary to be in love with Peter Hale and no one was going to fucking take that away from him, not after he'd been stabbed in the Goddamn side for the wolf. Not after he’d been seduced by a lamia. Not after he’d fought off a giant bug creature.

So Stiles sped along highways, unaccompanied, from Beacon Hills. Mizuki, Jaylen, and Thomas all met him in front of Peter's apartment, and after they all gave welcomes and hugs, Stiles got down to business. Thomas was briefly confused as to why Stiles was giving Peter a second chance, but it was mostly just for show. Apparently Thomas wasn't as mad after seeing how dissolved Peter had been after Stiles left. Jaylen just rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, and Mizuki gave Stile a spell.

“Only you can use it, you have a better tie to him than anyone here,” she said, tucking it into his palm.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, and when he opened his hand again, there was a symbol burned into his skin. He hadn't even felt it. He examined it quickly. “A tracking spell? You want me to use a tracking spell?”

“Can you think of a better way to find him? None of us exactly have werewolf strength noses.”

Stiles nodded slowly, still fixated on the mark. “But I've never used one. What if it goes wrong?”

“Well,” Mizuki started before she gave a shrug. “Don't screw it up.” Then she gave a sharp pat to Stiles' cheek and urged him to continue.

The spell didn't work. Not at first. Stiles had to keep trying again and again, each time becoming more frantic because God, if he didn't get the spell to work then Peter could already be dead! It had definitely been a few weeks since they'd last texted, and here he was thinking that Peter had just wanted to drop him after all, and then Mizuki had taken her time making sure Peter was actually gone before alerting anyone, and that all only postponed Stiles chance to help his wolf. It had to be really bad if Peter hadn't made it back on his own already, right? Peter could already be dead, right? The teen managed to keep some semblance of calm, just to keep up appearance, just to keep the others from worrying. But really, he was terrified.

About a week after first getting the spell, Stiles, in a moment of desperation half mixed with resignation, began punching the symbol on his hand because he just wanted the damn spell to work already! He needed to get to Peter, alive, dead, whatever! He just needed to find the wolf, know where he was for once and for all, because just disappearing wasn't going to work! They had so much going for him and Peter was not about to use abduction as an excuse! So Stiles slammed his fist into his palm.

A small light suddenly lifted up and began to shine from his middle finger, pointing Stiles in a direction like a compass. He gasped softly and stared at the direction while nodding absently to himself. He didn't waste time waiting for Mizuki or anything, just called her as he followed the small light coming from his finger, giving her directions as he went. The light shot out in a beam maybe five feet in front of Stiles, and he followed it, curving when it did, moving all the faster when it was straight.

After a few miles, Stiles decided that it probably wasn't the brightest thing to set out on Peter's path without some mode of transportation. It was hot, and he began sweating the more he walked, and it was obviously way too long to go by foot. Peter's apartment was miles, miles outside the main city and it totally looked like the city was where the light was leading. The teen sat in defeat by the side of the road until Thomas could pull up a half hour later, grinning and patting the side of his old, beaten up Ford Taurus like he was a hero.

“How much for the night?” The older boy asked with a wink, making Stiles roll his eyes.

“More than you could afford,” Stiles grumbled, getting into the back seat, Jaylen secure in her spot on the passenger side, twisting one of her braids around her finger. Thomas pretended to look offended, but couldn’t hold back from making several more jokes shortly after.

The three of them ended up heading off in the direction of the city as Stiles verbally gave directions so Thomas didn't get distracted by the light shining from Stiles' finger and crash the car. Thomas could get distracted by literally anything; he was like a cat.

After over an hour's worth of driving, they finally passed a large warehouse that seemed relatively quiet, but Stiles' entire hand had started vibrating relentlessly as they got closer. The light on his hand also wouldn't curve or turn any other way. The only answer was that Peter was inside the warehouse. Stiles nodded to himself, clenched his jaw and was about to rush out of the car, guns blazing, before Jaylen grabbed him by the hand and yanked him back. Stiles' flailed backwards, head nearly knocking into the door on the other side of the car. When he regained balance (and lost significant dignity) he whipped his head around to Jaylen and glared at her.

“What did you do that for?” He growled. “Peter is in there and I have to go and get him!”

“And what exactly is your plan? I thought you said you always have a plan.” She answered, with less spitfire and more cold calculation.

“The plan is to go and get him!”

“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, Stiles,” she sighed, placing her finger between her eyebrows like Stiles was giving her the biggest headache of the century. “I thought you out of everyone would be smart about this.”

It shamed him into agreement, as painful as it was to hear. She was right They needed a plan. Stiles sighed and relaxed back in his seat. “Okay, fine, we'll think it through or whatever. But what if he's already dead in there?”

“Then there's nothing you can do about it anyway, so there's no point in rushing. He's either alive, and we'll get there, or he's dead, and there's nothing you could do to change it. But getting ourselves hurt in the process won’t help Peter live if he isn’t dead.”

It was a bitter, harsh reality, and Stiles felt like he'd been slapped in the face. But at the same time, while Jaylen was right about the plan, about Stiles needing to remain unharmed, she wasn’t right about Peter being dead. There was most certainly something he could do about it, and he would. If Peter was dead, oh, Stiles would find a way to bring him back. Peter had done it before, Stiles would do it this time. “Don't be so sure,” he warned, then sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.

Jaylen just glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn't mean any ill intent behind her words, it was just the way she was-logical and cold. That was where she and Lydia differed. Lydia tried to cover up how smart she was, was extremely extroverted. Jaylen, well, not so much. Jaylen could play her part at the bookstore, sure, she could force small talk and give customers beautiful, glowing smiles. But Stiles imagined she was internally begging them to stop talking, or thinking what complete idiots they were. She was rather more like Peter in certain aspects than Lydia. 

Jaylen chose the people she cared for carefully. But she did care for them, and cared for them fiercely, even if it was hard to tell sometimes. Stiles wasn’t sure if the situation was reversed, if it was Thomas in there instead, if she would be thinking so clearly. But Stiles couldn't bring himself to throw that back at her, even if he was furious she'd stopped him and then told him that Peter very well might be dead and he couldn't do anything. Jaylen should know him better, but maybe she did. She was keeping Stiles from acting rashly, getting himself hurt, and possibly wasting all the effort to save Peter, and he loved her for it. She just wasn’t sure how to go about telling him in a different way. Jaylen, honestly was probably worried about Peter too, but knew the risks involved. Stiles needed to remember to thank her for thinking clearly later.

Because Stiles really did need to think of a plan of entry, and a plan of escape, and you know, the whole bit in the middle. He had been acting too recklessly. But it was /Peter/. How could he react any differently? The teen took a deep breath and closed his eyes to focus on a solution.

After hitting his head on the back seat of the car a few times, he jumped forward suddenly, startling Thomas and Jay up front. “I've got it!” He shouted. “But we're going to need black clothes, some weapons for protection, and definitely a whole lot of energy for me.”

“Then stop wasting it by talking,” Jaylen responded, but there was a small smirk on her lips. Stiles grinned back at her, nodding.

***

The first step of attack was putting up a force field around the building. This was the most important step. These were humans, not supernatural beings, so mountain ash of course wouldn't work, but there was no way Stiles was letting any one of these hunters slip out. Not until they got a good talking to from him. But were they Argents? Did they already know the new code or were they somehow rogue? What if they were a completely different group altogether? Stiles didn't have enough intel on them. So before they could even attack or put up a force field, they had to watch, despite Stiles' gut telling him to move now.

The three of them observed nonetheless. They observed for a few days, sometimes taking shifts, sometimes all three at once. But they all watched for patterns. They all watched for entrance points. They all watched for Peter, or any other supernatural creature in the building.

They didn't see any creatures being brought in or out, but they did see moving vans. Large moving vans. A lot of them. It made total sense if it was a company moving into the warehouse, but the workers were definitely not hired movers. They were dressed in all black, they were glancing over their shoulders as they backed the vans up just enough to open the doors and get something inside. Every delivery was, of course, completely hidden. Stiles took more than enough pictures of them all despite the lack of visibility, just for proof. But which deliveries were (possibly) furniture (or something else), and which were creatures? Or were they all creatures?

The thought made Stiles' stomach clench. Sure, there were some really bad baddies out there, but there were also a lot of good ones. What if Scott or Derek or Isaac or Erica ever got delivered in one of those crates? Peter already had been. Stiles' jaw tensed once more.

After observation came planning. That's when Stiles mentioned the force field, when Stiles told them that these hunters would agree to rules or they wouldn't be offered a second chance, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Jaylen had agreed, completely ready to do whatever was necessary, because she wanted to help these creatures and Peter as much as Stiles, but Thomas was the one who stalled, stared at the both of them.

“You mean...no second chances as in, kill them?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“It's fine to kill creatures when they torture and kill humans, but to mention killing humans after they’ve been torturing and killing creatures, you have a problem?” Stiles responded, nodding his chin toward the warehouse. He didn’t mean it in a rude way, hell, Scott had the same thinking as Thomas, but right now they just didn’t have the time for an ethical talk.

Thomas was about to answer when Jaylen spoke, “babe, Peter looks human, despite the fact that he's not, he looks it. If these guys are trained in killing 'creatures' because they're different, it's probably not going to take that much for them to move onto a human. Poor decisions aside, Peter has been killing plenty of the creatures that might kill humans. Obviously these guys didn't. Now, what happens when Peter, or any other creature that may be helping, dies by their hands? What happens to the human that accidentally discovers their hide out? These aren't safe people.”

“But then we're no better than them,” Thomas said, brow furrowing. He really sounded like Scott, and it made Stiles' chest ache a bit. “We can’t just kill them. How do you know they’re even doing bad things? What if they won’t hurt a human?”

“That's why we're giving them a chance,” Stiles spoke up at last. “They're not giving the creatures any, I'm sure. I've dealt with hunters before. They're cults, practically. They brainwash young, and they do some pretty nasty shit. A hunter once burned down Peter's entire family by locking them in the house and setting the place on fire. There were humans in the house too. Does that really sound like a group you think deserves more than a second chance?”

Thomas fell quiet, then shook his head no. Stiles knew that even if he didn't really agree with it, he would go along with the plan regardless. But that didn't mean Stiles didn't feel a little badly. Maybe for Thomas’ sake, these hunters would be different.

The force field, infiltration, retrieving, information gathering. This was the plan they finally came up with. They would work their way in through an entrance. Stiles would immediately put up a spell around the building. After that, they would invade the area. Stiles promised to work on knocking hunters out with his magic, rather than killing. Jaylen and Thomas would have weapons of their own, but the hunters definitely had guns. Stiles had also been working on a spell to jam those, if he had the energy to spare. After that, the tracking spell would lead them directly to wherever they were holding Peter. Stiles would go and get him while Jaylen and Thomas tried to take care of other creatures around the building, and other hunters. After Peter was retrieved, they would make their escape, only to come back, Peter-less, and have a loonngg conversation with the hunters. One that involved asking them what their plans were and how they were going to change them.

The only problem was this took a lot of magic ability on Stiles' end. He just hoped it would all last long enough to be able to get Peter out of there. He looked down at his hands and sighed softly. Yes. He would do anything in his power to get Peter out of there. He believed he would get Peter out. He had to.

***

They waited until nightfall to actually make a move. The three of them crept from Thomas' car a few blocks away to the warehouse in which Peter was being kept. Stiles followed the small light glowing from his middle finger, leading them in the right direction. The closer they got, the more he felt adrenaline course through his body. He would need it. He would need as much strength as possible for this, because getting Peter out of a guarded building with hunters at possibly every turn was terrifying and draining. But at least they had observed over the past few days that the hunters seemed to take shifts, and there were certainly fewer around at night than during the day. It didn't seem like any “shipments” came in at night either.

Stiles paused right around the corner from the entrance they had chosen, looking back at Jaylen and Thomas, who were both dressed in black, weapons at their sides. Stiles had given Thomas his bat too. It hurt to let it go, but Thomas would need it more than Stiles did. Stiles had magic.

Once he got a nod from the both of them, he nodded in return and slowly made his way to the entrance of the building. It was locked, but that was hardly a problem. Unlocking something wouldn't even drain anything from Stiles. He had always been good at picking locks before, and with magic it was as easy as snapping his fingers. He placed his hand over the lock, closed his eyes, and when he heard a click, he quickly opened the door just an inch. There didn't seem to be anything inside, so he opened it the full way and moved in, staying close to the wall. Thomas and Jaylen followed after.

As soon as the door closed again, Stiles placed his hands together, shifted into position, and whispered a few words under his breath. The shimmery shield washed over the ground like water from his feet, spreading over every surface of the room until it managed to go up and out. It didn't matter if a hunter noticed it or not, because as soon as the shield was in place, no one was getting in or out. At least not unless Stiles was dead. The teen brought his hands down and placed the force field in the back of his mind. It was kind of like breathing or walking. The brain still had to process it, sure, but he didn't really have to think about it.

Thomas took over from there. He'd managed to find some old blueprints of the place, mapped out various areas that he felt wouldn't have been renovated. He began leading them down a hallway, clinging close to the wall. They each stopped to look around occasionally, making sure no one was around, making sure they weren't being followed.

It seemed like everything was going fairly well, and they didn't end up actually coming into contact with others until about ten minutes of wandering around. As they turned down a hallway, there was a door open three rooms down, a small light coming from the crack in the door, followed by hushed voices. Thomas looked back at Stiles with a devilish grin before he nodded his head toward the door. Stiles shrugged, unsure if they should actually work on attacking the hunters or not. Maybe they should just keep going? He was determined to find Peter, first and foremost. Getting their cover blown didn't really feel ideal to him, and if it wasn’t an emergency to knock the hunters out, he didn’t want to waste the energy.

Jaylen, the angel she was, lightly hit him on the chest, a piece of paper in her hand. Stiles looked down at it and took it from her. It was a map of possible hiding places, big enough for a wolf, as well as a message. “We distract them. You find him. That’s the new deal. So go, and be stealthy.”

Stiles grinned at her, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, and then turned quickly to run down the other half of the hall, one that seemed to be deserted. If he knew hunters, and he did, they were probably keeping Peter in the basement. So he first needed to find a set of stairs.

With a quick look back at Jaylen and Thomas, Stiles watched them approach the door to the room with hunters and realized that it didn't even occur to him that they might get hurt in the process. He stopped, took in a deep breath and then blew it out in their direction. Hopefully it would be enough protective magic until he got back. He turned onto a set of stairs before seeing them actually go in.

***

The warehouse was old and falling apart, which, duh, it was abandoned after all. The paint was peeling of the walls, and everything had the solid, prison-esque cement and brick feel to it. Metal and stone. There weren't a lot of working lights, so it was definitely hard to see where he was going at times. Probably wouldn't have been much easier in the day either. Stiles managed to move along though, working on keeping his steps as quiet as possible. He didn't know any kind of silencer spells yet, and even still, he was already working with a limited power source, he couldn't just go throwing out every spell possible, he had to reserve his energy.

On his way down to the basement (it seemed the warehouse went at least two of three floors below the ground too), Stiles stumbled upon a large room filled with papers and information. He stared at the walls, mouth agape, looking at what he assumed were all of the plans of the hunters. The first thing his eyes caught on was a picture of Peter's apartment complex, with an arrow pointing to Peter's window. His stomach gave a possessive sort of clench while looking at it, anger boiling up inside of him. He sneered at the image before his eyes fell to the one below it. His dormitory. His dorm room. Him. They knew who he was.

And it actually made him kind of proud. Stiles was a threat. If they knew Stiles, they knew he was also a Spark, and so much more. Stiles was someone they were going to come after. Good.

He marked it in his head to come back to the room later. He would gather all of their information, figure out what exactly they were doing, what information they were trying to get. He was surprised they left this room unguarded, actually. If he had a giant room of information and plans, maybe battle strategies or something, he wouldn’t just let it sit around waiting for someone to come in and see it.

And just as the thought hit him, he heard movement down the hallway. Fuck.

Stiles ducked as quickly as possible under a table, though it wouldn't provide much cover. He heard footsteps come down and into the room, the light from the hunter's flashlight running across the floor in zigzags. Stiles held his breath. The hunter sat down in his chair, and from what it sounded like, kicked both of his feet up on a desk top.

“Watch the research room, James,” the hunter started saying in a high-pitched, mocking voice, “feed the creatures, James. Do all the grunt work, James. I'm Mason, and I think I'm so much better than everyone else because I am tall, dark, and psycho-pants.”

The hunter snorted a laugh to himself, muttering “psycho-pants” once more, and then sounded like he took a huge bite into a sandwich. Stiles crinkled his nose at the sound of the guy totally eating with his mouth open, lips smacking against themselves. Wonderful. Pleasant.

But could he sneak out? Did this James guy have any weapons? How could Stiles get him out of the room?

Got it.

Stiles closed his eyes, focused on making the temperature in the room cooler. It had to be slowly, it had to be unnoticeable. But at the same time, every moment was precious. Every moment meant Peter could be closer to death, if he wasn't already. The teen focused on breathing slowly, making the temperature drop little by little. He only hoped that James was a bit on the slow side, maybe he wouldn't notice why it was suddenly so cold there.

“Holy shit,” James said aloud, bringing Stiles from his thoughts, making him jump. The teen's heart raced while he waited. Was he caught? “It's freezing as balls in here. God damn it, I hate this place.” The hunter got up again, started stomping toward the door. “Fucking Mason, wanting to leave Texas, stupidest idea in the world—“ James trailed off as he went down the hallway.

Stiles took in a loud breath, body visibly relaxing as he realized he was safe. Alright, so James was a little dumb. Good to know. But also not the time to deal with him. The teen looked down at his finger, noticed the light was still pointing down, so he scrambled up and out of the room, locating the next set of stairs.

 

***

The next set of stairs, however, brought with them a foul scent. Stiles covered his mouth and nose with his hand, gagging at the smell. It was like the smell of an unclean zoo, but worse, and concentrated (an unclean indoor zoo with no windows and possibly half the animals were dead). His stomach heaved with the need to vomit, overwhelmed with whatever was resting on that floor, because it was, honest to God, God awful. Stiles made his way regardless, trying to focus on rescuing Peter rather than the smell of the floor. When he reached the last stair and actually made his way through the door at the bottom the smell hit him full blast, and Stiles doubled over, worried he actually would vomit that time.

The next thing he realized (after forcing himself to keep everything in his stomach down) was that it wasn't quiet. It wasn't loud, but there were distant kinds of sounds coming from the entire floor. It was like every single room was full of something. Stiles' brow furrowed, finally intrigued enough to take his mind off the smell. He made his way down the hall, running his hand along the wall for support. There were doors everywhere, and each one was closed, and locked with chains. Stiles stared at them as he went, trying to piece it all together.

Then it hit him.

There were supernatural creatures behind every single one of these doors.

Behind every single one of these doors, something was chained and locked up, and was probably being tortured and starved and abused.

The anger that he had felt before-yeah, that turned into a full on fury. Stiles' hands clenched tightly, knuckles white under his thick, black gloves. He didn't have time. He didn't have time. But if he could just...

He slowly grasped one of the locks in his hand, heard it click and unlock. Did he want to see what was inside? Did he really want to? He unwrapped the chain from the door, and slowly, so slowly, opened it, cringing at the loud creaking sound the door made as it opened.

Inside was a cage. A large, barred, rusted cage. There was a red light bulb dangling from the ceiling, giving the entire room a surreal look. Which was hilarious, because he should be more bothered by the thing inside the cage than the lighting effect but this was Stiles and he was immune to shock at weird supernatural creatures now (kind of). But inside was, well, inside was the stuff of fairytales. No, not even fairytales. Werewolves were the stuff of fairytales. This was a thing of legend, of myth, and Stiles stood, frozen in place, staring in at the cage.

Inside of the cage, sitting still as a statue, was a sphinx. Stiles stared at the creature, washed in momentary awe. A sphinx. It was a sphinx. The real human head, body of a lion, wings sprouting from its back kind of sphinx. The human stared, unable to move when suddenly, the sphinx's head was turned and _looking at him_. When did it even move? But out of the creature came what would be a beautiful, feminine voice, nearly echoing off the walls, if it were not coarse and rough, filled with nervousness, an anxiousness, a terror, that no creature like this should experience. It sounded like the sphinx hadn't been able to speak for days. The sound shook Stiles out of his stupor.

“I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold, I visit the weak, but seldom the bold,” the sphinx managed to say without opening its mouth.

Stiles stared at it a moment longer, licking his lips slowly before answering. “Fear,” he said quietly.

At the answer, the sphinx straightened slightly, head cocking to the side. It seemed intrigued that Stiles answered it, and he seemed to have gotten the right answer. Again, the sphinx said “no sooner spoken than broken.”

“Silence,” Stiles answered, again, taking a few steps into the room. “They've been keeping you quiet then? Locked in the room? Not allowed to tell your riddles?” But would that mean the sphinx wouldn’t have attacked? Stiles almost wanted to see this creature bite at the neck of one of the hunters.

Still, the sphinx tilted its head forward, once, but didn't speak again. Stiles stepped forward toward the cage, and when he reached out for the bars the creature inside twitched. “I drift forever with the current down these long canals they've made. Tame, yet wild, I run elusive, multitasking to your aid. Before I came, the world was darker. Colder, sometimes, rougher, true. But though I might make living easy, I'm good at killing people too.”

Stiles stopped immediately, staring at the bars of the cage. He tried to piece together the riddle in his head, the sphinx staring at him intently with dark eyes. Again, he wet his lips, his eyes moving around the barbed wire, and other wire wrapped around--it was electrified. “Electricity,” Stiles answered, and when the sphinx nodded, the teen took in a breath. How was he going to get them out? Any of them? He didn't know how to redirect electricity.

“I'll come back for you,” Stiles said softly through the bars. “I need to go and get someone, but I swear, I promise I'll come back for you.”

“Two bodies have I, though both joined in one. The more still I stand, the quicker I run.”

“An hourglass. You'll wait?” Stiles looked around the cage, considering. “Not like you have a much better choice.”

Once the sphinx nodded again, Stiles gave a kind of salute before running out of the room. He turned down the hall once more, covering his mouth, and ran. The entire outside ring of the floor was filled with these locked rooms; Stiles could only assume each with a creature inside, which meant he had his work cut out for him. It was only on his third corner turn that he found a hallway with a door that led further inside, toward the middle of the floor. He took it, gripping the door and ripping it open before closing it behind him. He took a gasping breath, no longer in the outer ring, and the smell wasn't as bad anymore.

He was in a small room, one door behind him, another just a few feet in front of him. What would this room have been use for? Stiles wasn't sure. But he didn't have time to ponder; he'd already wasted too much as it was running around the floors. And the light from his finger was shining directly in front of him. So he took the last couple feet, tensed, prepared to fight in case he encountered anything, and opened the door.

Inside was a dark chamber. The first thing Stiles' noticed, through the flickering overhead light, was a single, metal chair, chains wrapped around it, some having fallen onto the floor. Stiles' line of vision followed the chains to the side of the room. There was a set of stairs there, and Stiles regretted not having found the stairs that led him straight here sooner. But the next thing he noticed pulled his vision, every thought in his head really, from the stairs. From anything else. There were too dark, lumped forms on the ground near the stairs in a dark corner. Except it took Stiles a moment to realize that one of those lumped forms was not just clothing or random knick knacks, the form was a person sloped against the wall.

The second one, faced away from him, must have been a person as well. And Stiles didn't need to actually see the face, or any defining feature, to know that it was Peter. It was Peter. Peter was on the ground. Peter was injured. Peter might be dead. But Stiles would recognize his body shape anywhere.

The teen raced over, dropped onto his knees next to Peter's side, his hands automatically floating over the wolf, looking at where to start with helping him but also having no fucking clue what to do, because what the fuck was he supposed to do? Peter looked like he'd been through hell. Blood covered the wolf, along with bruises and cuts, bullet wounds. Peter's eyes were dark underneath, kind of sunken in, and he was pale. So pale. He didn’t have this kind of medical expertise!

Stiles' eyes raked Peter's body, trying to focus on something, anything, because the wolf could _not_ die and Stiles needed to save him. The teen leaned down, put his head on Peter's chest. There was a soft heartbeat, like it was struggling, like it was giving up.

“No--no, no, no, no, no—“ Stiles started chanting while he patted Peter down. “No, no, no, you are not doing this. Not again. I cannot do this again. This is just going to be like the lamia time, right? This is just like the lamia time. This is just--you're going to wake up and be okay—“

His voice cracked, and Stiles dropped his head in momentary defeat. He wasn’t Deaton; he wasn’t Mizuki. He couldn’t do this. But when he lowered his head, out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a small gleam of purple. He saw dark veins pulsing from a cut on Peter's arm, and his heart practically stopped. Wolfsbane. Wolfsbane. Peter was cut with something wolfsbane.

The teen whipped around, immediately suspecting the other body in the room, the one he hadn't bothered to investigate yet because it wasn't Peter. But it was a boy who seemed to be around the same age as Stiles. Stiles stared at him a moment before scrambling over. It was only when he was searching for a weapon that he saw the other boy's eyes move, causing Stiles to yelp and rear back in alarm. Holy shit! Holy shit! Guy was alive!

But...not moving. Stiles lowered his hands, more than ready to cast a spell before he realized that the only thing the boy _could_ move was his eyes. The other boy was paralyzed. Stiles' jaw dropped slightly before he grinned. “Man, you fucked with the wrong werewolf. And considering the state he’s in, I really don't care.” He snorted before looking around the ground. He finally saw a glint of metal and picked the knife up, scanning it over. And yep. There was wolfsbane, in all its beautiful, purple glory.

Derek had set it on fire once, when he'd been shot with it. Then rubbed it on himself, right? Like, was that what Stiles was supposed to do in this situation? Biting his lip, the teen formed a flame in his hand before he held the blade over it, watched as it caught fire, watched it grow white hot. Then, and only then, he looked at Peter, swallowing roughly. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered before gripping the wolf's wrist with the hand that once held flame. A moment later, the teen pressed the blade against the wound, hearing it sear together, sizzle closed, the smell of burnt flesh and skin filling Stiles' nose, and he felt like gagging for the fourth (fifth, sixth, seventh, hundredth) time that day. Finally, a smell worse than the rest of the place.

Once the blade began to lose its color, he threw it somewhere behind his shoulder. It wasn't necessary anymore. His hands quickly landed on Peter again, and Stiles began chanting, focusing, thinking of every single healing spell he could do. And maybe just hoping he could magically work some he didn't. But none of it mattered because Peter would wake up from this, he was totally going to wake up from this, and in the slightest chance he did not, Stiles would find a way to wake him up, and they would walk out of this place, and Stiles would never let Peter out of his sight again because even though werewolves had more strength, could self heal, they always managed to land in situations where it seemed they wouldn't survive anyway. Peter was so dumb, so dumb. But Stiles was going to wait until he woke up, damnit. He would sit on this floor next to the strange boy who couldn't move, next to Peter's unconscious body until the wolf got up, or someone dragged him out.

Stiles would stay. Stiles would stay. Stiles would stay.

***

It was so slight, so small, so insignificant that were Stiles' entire being not focused on the wolf, he doubt that the action would have even been recognized by the universe, let alone a completely wrecked, simple, mortal human. But Stiles realized the moment that Peter's finger twitched against his hand. The boy's head snapped up, looking at the downed wolf with watery eyes, taking too heavy of breaths to keep his mouth closed, cheeks flushed. It had to have been a half hour at least.

A half hour of Stiles' praying his own life energy away please if it would just make Peter wake up, take some of his, please.

And then Peter's finger twitched.

“Peter,” he chanced before pursing his lips together tightly, jaw stiffening, like saying the wolf’s name instead of chanting a spell was a wrong decision.

But Peter’s finger twitched again.

“Peter?” The teen asked, breath speeding up again. Come on, this had to work.

A few fingers twitched.

“Peter, please, God, please open your eyes. Do not make me hit you.”

The wolf's eyes began moving sharply behind his eyelids like going into REM. But it was movement. It was hope. Stiles leaned over Peter to see better.

“Come on, come on.” He chanted as if calling the wolf back from a nightmare.

The older man opened his eyes, slowly, like waking from a long sleep rather than death. He blinked once, akin to a messed up fucking version of Sleeping Beauty. And Stiles was the Prince.

“Stiles?” Peter somehow managed, his throat sounded like he'd swallowed nails every day for a month. But it was Peter. It was Peter, and Stiles couldn't stand it anymore. How would he have continued without Peter? How was he so fucking head over heels for the wolf? “How—“

The teenager couldn't waste another minute, not another second. They needed to work things out, they needed to talk, they needed to do a lot of things, yeah. But at that moment nothing was more important than acting on how he felt. Nothing was more important than not letting one more moment slip by without giving this a shot, without knowing he did everything he could to confess. There were too many chances he didn't take before, that Peter didn't take before, and neither of them were going to die without the other knowing. And bruised, bloody, sweaty, Peter needed care, he needed more healing. But this was important too.

Stiles crawled on top of the wolf, driven by instinct, only able to think of how much he needed to let Peter know, and because God damnit it, Peter had been dying! How unbelievably ecstatic Stiles was that Peter was alive, and oh, they would make it through this. He took the wolf's face into his hands, cupping it like something holy, and then leaned down, placing a warm kiss on the wolf's lips. It was a pledge, and a truth, and a promise. They were getting out. They were getting out and Stiles was in love.

Peter kissed back reverently, like he'd been holding back from something too pure. And there they sat, the teen breathing in shakily in between kisses in the dark, while Peter slowly began to rise, moving to sit, pulling Stiles closer, enveloping him. They were lost to each other, lost in the act of finally devouring something they’d craved for so long. Lost until Stiles heard the scream.

***

Almost everything became fuzzy after that. Stiles felt like he was running to catch himself, always on his own heels but never quite there. They left the boy's body down where he’d found Peter, but Stiles made a note of it to possibly come back later. They also took the stairs right out of the room, not yet returning to the outer circle of rooms, of cages. Stiles kept Peter's arm wrapped around his shoulders, half dragging the werewolf with him as Peter kept his other arm tucked in close to his stomach, though whether that was for the arm or the stomach, Stiles wasn't sure. But they ran, because Stiles knew somewhere in his gut that that scream had been Jaylen. And it hadn't stopped at one scream. In fact, as they got closer, Stiles realized she was screaming “no” over and over again. Screaming. Sobbing. No.

A cold chill ran through Stiles' spine. The only thing that could make Jaylen respond like that, it had to be the only thing.

Thomas was hurt.

He ran as fast as he could while supporting Peter. But Peter seemed to be drifting in and out of it again. Peter seemed to be losing coordination.

“Just a little longer, Peter, okay? Then we'll go home, okay? I promise. We'll go home, and you can make me eat gross vegetables, and maybe I'll even listen to some boring talk news, or you can sing me Frank Sinatra while wearing a fedora, I don't care, I really don't care, we'll do whatever you want, but you just have to last me a little longer,” Stiles rushed, trying to distract the wolf. And it seemed to have worked; Peter even cracked a smirk.

“I'm holding you--to the Frank Sinatra bit,” Peter grumbled roughly. “I hope you like--I've Got You Under My Skin.”

“That is so you, oh my God, you know Neal Caffery is a fictional character, right?” Stiles answered with an eye roll. “You are such an old man.”

They turned another corner.

Five hunters stood around two forms on the ground. One, a girl with her long braids wrapped into a perfect torus on her head, too-large black framed glasses resting gently on her ears, hunched over, no, clinging for life to the body of a boy laying on the ground, blood streaming from around him. The girl was sobbing, trying to get her arms deeper under the boy's body, clutching him to her chest. Her mouth held open, lips pulling back over bright white teeth, somewhere between a sob and a silent scream. Tears streaked down her cheeks. Thomas was growing paler by the moment, his eyes staring off at some distant point that he couldn't seem to focus on.

Then one of the hunters pointed their gun at Jaylen's head.

Everything seemed to slow down suddenly while Stiles' watched the scene, heart icing over. Sound seemed to fade away. The other humans' movements became exaggerated and slow. The world began to stop, even though once again, he was able to move. But it wasn't just him this time, no. When he looked to the side, the werewolf leaning on him began looking around at the world like he was seeing it for the first time. Peter's lips parted. The wolf was in awe.

But it couldn't last for long. Jaylen and Thomas were in front of him, and they needed him. And Stiles couldn't show mercy, right? Everyone was depending on him. The animals downstairs were depending on him. These people tortured, killed, kept Peter in a cage, just shot Thomas. How could he let them live? How could he--

“Don't you even think about it,” Peter said softly, his weight suddenly lifting off Stiles' shoulders. The teen glanced over at him, confused. “They're mine. You don't get to take them from me.”

“Peter, you can barely—“

The wolf turned sharply to face Stiles, cupping a hand around the teen's jaw, and Stiles drew in a breath. “Maybe you can have them next time. But these ones are for me. Unfreeze them.”

It took Stiles a moment, but he tried to focus. He watched as Peter limped toward the circle, grabbed the gun pointed at Jaylen. And when everything suddenly melted back into life, Peter was in motion, too fast for Stiles to watch as the wolf practically dripped into moving time like ink into water, blurring completely.

The hunters were barely even aware of what hit them. It was over so quickly, body after body falling to the ground as Peter slashed through each one. They fell next to other unconscious hunters that Thomas and Jaylen did manage to knock out.

Worst of all though was that Jaylen barely seemed to notice anything was even going on around her. She simply held on tightly to Thomas, now both splattered with blood, and buried her face into the boy's chest having pulled him half onto her lap. Her sobs were then the only sound in the room. Even Peter didn't move, or make a comment.

Stiles rushed over, ran and fell next to Thomas' side, next to Jaylen, he gripped onto the boy's arm. Just like Peter, there was a pulse, but that pulse...It was weak, it was fading. Stiles tried to focus, tried to use those same healing spells, would waste all his energy if he had to.

“Move away from him,” Peter said so lowly it neared on cold.

Stiles glared up at him, a new fury rising. How could Peter just say something like that? “What?” He asked. “I'm not going to move away from him if I can help him, I'm not going to—“

“Stiles, this isn't up for debate. Move away from him.”

Not only did Stiles not move, he also didn't ease up on his glare, hoping to send chills down the wolf's spine somehow. But Peter didn't back down. He simply stared down at Jaylen, some weird, raw emotion hanging between them, and Peter almost looked...like he was empathizing. It looked like the wolf ached. It was an emotion he’d never seen Peter have before, and it gave Stiles pause, enough to lean back from Thomas just slightly, wondering why Peter wanted him to do it.

“Jaylen,” Peter said, kneeling down next to the girl. She didn't answer him though, so he kept talking. “He can't answer me. And I know in this case, he would turn to you, because I know you'll make a logical explanation without it being affected by your personal feelings.”

Stiles felt his brow furrow, but he watched the scene in front of him, as he heard words uttered so similarly to Jaylen herself just a few days before when she was talking to Stiles about Peter. Jaylen's sobs had quieted some, but she still didn't respond.

Peter continued. “I know it will be difficult, but I need you to give me an answer void of all emotion, do not let it cloud your judgment. I know you can do it. Stiles is much too drained to heal Thomas like he needs to be healed, and he's fading fast. Jaylen, sweetheart, I can give him the bite, but it's not a guarantee. I can give him the bite, but that means Thomas will become a werewolf. Could you live with it? Could he? Would you be prepared if it killed him?”

“You can give him the bite?” Stiles blurted suddenly, fully acknowledging that Jaylen had lifted her head, was staring at Peter through her tears, but still not answering him. “How can you do that? You're not an Alpha.”

The wolf ignored him, staring only at Jaylen. This girl gasped in a shaky breath, a bloody hand coming up to grab onto her bun while she started sobbing once more, clearly battling somewhere in her head. “He would want you to. He would want you to--just---“ She slumped over once more, though it was clear she wanted to say more. She simply couldn’t.

“Do you give me consent for him? Not for you, for him?”

The moment Jaylen nodded her head, Peter nodded in return and flashed an apologetic glance Stiles' way. The teen stared at the wolf, still incredibly confused, but also feeling torn with the slightest bit of hope that Thomas could live. But Peter was an Alpha? How?

Leaning down, Peter took Thomas' arm, and held it up to his mouth. He aimed higher up on the forearm than he had when he offered the bite to Stiles before. But then fangs grew, and Peter's eyes flashed a brilliant shade of red before the Alpha sank his teeth into one of Stiles' best friend's arms. But it was gentle, like a ritual rather than a sacrifice. Peter dipped his fangs in like a quill, pulling them out with red ink dripping between his lips. Then they retracted back like they were never there, Peter's eyes falling back to blue.

“Stay here with him,” Peter instructed. He then reached and handed Jaylen a gun. “If a hunter comes by, shoot them, though I don't hear any around. If Thomas wakes, I should feel it.”

“Oh, you have so much explaining to do,” Stiles hissed.

“There are still four other hunters in the building,” Peter warned, glancing at Stiles. “We need to find them first. Then I promise I will explain everything.”

“No lying, I will put a magical lie detector on you.”

“No lying,” Peter said truthfully.

***

Two of the hunters put up a fight for sure. But their aim was about as good as a storm trooper's. Stiles forced himself to avoid making a Star Wars joke aloud. This was too serious a situation, right?

They found James standing by one of the exits to the building, pounding his fist on the door and shouting something like, “this isn't fucking funny you guys! I can't believe you locked us all in here.”

“That was, actually me,” Stiles told him with a grin and a wave after walking up behind the other teen.

James whipped around, face going pale at the sight of a stranger with a werewolf he had helped Mason torture. Peter simply raised his hand in a wave and said, “hi.”

“I-I-I-“ James started. And when Peter took a step to charge, Stiles grabbed the wolf's arm and made him stop.

“Really? I mean, this guy would be like shooting a fish in a barrel. Can't I just knock him out? He doesn't really seem the hunter type,” Stiles argued as if James wasn’t right in front of them.

“One loose end, Stiles,” Peter said softly.

“For my humanity's sake, I think I'm okay with one loose end...Let us just not kill this one.”

“One loose end is what killed my family, are you _sure_?”

Stiles glanced at the boy, then at Peter, and then back at James. The other boy looked ready to piss himself. Stiles held his hand up, his eyelids fluttered, and then James slumped to the ground with a thud. Eyes closed. “I'm sure.”

***

The last hunter was a hunter that Peter asked to see alone. Maybe it was because he thought Stiles was getting weaker with the “one loose end” bit. If Stiles couldn't kill James, would Stiles kill no one? Well, the teen was kind of okay with that. He understood that killing was kind of a thing that Peter did, and Stiles didn't really blame him, especially not in this situation. Stiles had killed before too, and probably would again, but right now, he just wanted to get Peter home. He wanted to get Thomas home. He just wanted to go home.

God he hoped Thomas was alright.

After a few minutes, Peter came back out of the room, a young, blonde girl in tow. She glanced up at Stiles and jumped back like she hadn't been expecting him. Peter looked at her and rolled his eyes. “This is Stiles. He's mine. Let’s go.”

“Yours?” Stiles asked with a glare. “You just keep digging yourself a bigger hole. Why did I save you again?”

“My devilish good looks,” Peter said dryly. “This is Alexandra. She wants to meet Allison.”

“Oh, sweet,” Stiles grinned, glancing at Alexandra. “That must mean you'd not one of the bad ones.”

“Don't get too excited, we have fifteen years of brainwashing to flood out,” Peter grimaced.

***

Alexandra went to shut down the power to the electrical wires, making all of the cages ineffective against the creatures trapped inside. But could they just release some unknown amount of tortured, starved, angry supernatural creatures into the world without looking into them? This was a dilemma. Stiles needed to get Peter and Thomas to safety, but he needed to get the others free before the next round of hunters. This was too much for one small human.

After a small debate, Stiles urged (begged) Peter to take Thomas out to the car with Alexandra and Jaylen. He needed them to at least drive closer, and he would follow them out as well. But he’d made a promise to the sphinx, and that promise he would keep. He'd find a way to free all of the creatures, at least he'd try, but he made a promise. Stiles made his way back down to the last floor of cages. He found the sphinx's room, and when the door open and the sphinx sat up looking so hopeful, well, he didn't regret it. He also maybe burst into the room shouting, “I’m Stiles Stilinski and I’m here to rescue you!”

He grabbed the lock on the cage bars, unlocked it, and opened the door. The sphinx jumped up and out of the cage gracefully, stared at him, and then kneaded into the ground with a loud purr. It was free. It nodded its head to the side, ears pointing toward the door on the other side of the hall.

“I can't open them all up right now buddy, I don't have time.” But he could do this one. Stiles ran to the door, unlocked and opened it. Inside the cage was a girl, lying on the floor of the cage like she had collapsed there. “Hello?” Stiles asked.

The girl looked up slowly, her dark eyes focusing on him. “You're not....”

“No. I'm not a hunter. My name is Stiles. I broke in here to get a wolf I know. But I-“

The girl looked at the sphinx, her eyes widening a bit more. “I'm an emissary. My pack was--they killed my pack. I don't know what they want with me...”

“The hunters that were on guard aren't a problem anymore, but we don't have much time, I don't know when the next group is coming in. Do you know any magic?”

“Yes, I do.”

“If I unlock all the doors, can you use your magic to help the others? Can you get them somewhere safe? Make sure they get fed, in a healthy way at least. We can't have anything rampaging through the streets.”

“You want me to take all of these creatures and get them to safety? How many?”

“As many as you can save.”

The girl stared at him, but slowly nodded her head, even if she looked overwhelmed. Stiles focused his energy, and all at once, the sounds of locked coming undone echoed off of each other in the same moment. Before he left the girl and the sphinx, he scribbled his name and phone number on torn piece of paper and gave it to her.

Stiles ran to grab one more thing before leaving the building. The papers from the information room James had been in before.

***

They made it safely back to Peter's apartment. Stiles kept a sharp watch on this Alexandra girl on the way, but he assumed that if Peter was alright with her, she had to be at least nonthreatening to the current party for now. He needed to drive back though, so watching over Thomas' and Peter's states was difficult while also trying to eye-warn the hunter away from doing anything bad.

Jaylen clung to Thomas in the car, still not speaking, but she'd stopped sobbing aloud. Tears continued to fall at random from her cheeks and eyelashes, however. Thomas would groan occasionally, or shiver, but overall he was still out of it. Did Peter really bite him (like _the bite_ )? Could Peter change him? When did the Alpha bit come into play? Maybe the hunters made Peter Alpha or something? It couldn't have been since the seer situation, because that would mean Peter had been Alpha for months and wouldn't have told Stiles. And that was...how was that?

The teen was aching, fingers flexing on the wheel, to learn all the information held in the documents that he stole too. There had to be information in there about everything. He would figure it out and everything would make sense again, and he could just continue to go back to living a fucked up life trying to woo a psychopathic werewolf. Just the easy things.

Because Thomas didn't deserve this. But it really was a testament to how much crap Stiles had been in that he wasn't completely freaking out about Thomas. If the bite didn't bring him back or it killed him or something then they could still bring Thomas back, right? They could still...They could work something out. Thomas was going to be fine.

Stiles was desensitized, really. Stiles had worried so much about his father, and Scott, and Lydia, and Peter, and Derek, and fucking everyone else in his life that this was nothing. Thomas would be okay. And hey, occasionally dry jokes helped break up the tension and kept the mind working right.

When they got into the apartment, Peter carried Thomas up the stairs, and Stiles and Alexandra made sure Peter didn't fall down. Jaylen followed behind them, head bowed low. Stiles didn't blame her for reacting this way, even if she had been so harsh with him before searching for Peter. He didn't wish that she had shaped up and tried to take down the guards herself or something. It was oddly comforting to see how human she was, how someone else was so human for once. He wished he could do more for her. And really, when had she ever been in a situation like this with the love of her life before?

Peter placed Thomas in his bedroom, and ended up collapsing there as well, momentarily. Alexandra awkwardly wandered around the apartment before settling on making herself a cup of tea (and she sneered at Peter's taste in healthy food aloud “how could a guy who's part wolf have so many green things? Jesus Christ, he eats kale chips?”).

Eventually, it was just Stiles and Jaylen sitting on the couch, Jaylen tucked into Stiles' side while his arm wrapped around her, thumb absentmindedly stroking up and down her bicep.

“What if he's not okay?” Jaylen asked softly, the first time she'd spoken in a few hours.

Stiles squeezed her a bit closer to him. “He will be, Jay,” Stiles promised, and he knew she was about to ask how he knew, how he had this gut feeling that Thomas would pull his ass through this the moment she opened her mouth again. “Hero's always gotta have some dramatic near death experience. Plus, Thomas is not gonna pass up the moment to be a sweet ass werewolf. He will like, put all other werewolves to shame.”

Jay tucked her face into his neck, and her lips may have even twitched at the corners, but she gave a small nod. Stiles knew she'd never think to herself ‘the love of my life died to save Stiles'’, or ‘my life was ruined and now Stiles gets to live happily ever after’. Jaylen would never blame him. But Stiles couldn't shake the guilty feeling. Thomas saved his life, and Peter's, and he was constantly there for them, and Stiles got him hurt. Peter or Thomas.

It was an unfair choice to choose.

 

***

“These guys were so fucked up,” Stiles said into the quietness of the room.

“You don't need to tell me,” Peter grumbled.

The wolf had woken up not too long ago, and he sent Jaylen in to go and sleep next to Thomas. Apparently, the bite was taking and Thomas at least seemed to be improving health wise, but his body might still be trying to fight it. Jaylen had jumped at the idea of being near him at least. After cleaning up, Peter had taken her spot on the couch, and he and Stiles had simply sat there, leaning into each other while coming down from adrenaline rushes and panic and worry. This was the first thing either of them had said.

Stiles looked at Peter finally, the wolf's face so close to his, and he took in a couple of features. The wrinkles, the mussed hair. Everything. The teen sighed and reached a hand up, gently touching Peter’s cheek, running his finger’s down Peter’s jaw, his chin, his neck. At least the wolf looked better than before. The self-healing, now uninterrupted, seemed to have kicked in, and without the dirt and sweat, he just looked better. Plus he didn't reek, that was helpful too.

“So, we have some things that really need discussing,” Stiles said quietly, turning again and looking away from Peter's face because it was distracting. Except that's when the wolf turned, looked at him, nodded, gave Stiles his full attention.

“We do. And we will. But do we have to do this now?” Peter was tired, and Stiles was aware of that. And yes, he would love to spend the rest of the night cuddling into each other and falling asleep under a warm blanket. But...before this went any further...

“What if this was the only moment we are alone all night?”

“If this was the only moment we were alone, then I'd much rather spend it doing something far more enjoyable,” Peter answered smoothly, and Stiles turned bright red before glaring at him.

“I am trying to have a serious conversation, damnit. Do not make a joke out of it right now. I need the truth, okay? You owe me that. So no you do not just get to act smooth and manipulate your way--”

“I never want to hurt you, I wouldn’t have hurt you,” Peter blurted suddenly. Stiles stopped talking, heart caught in his throat. “I…I made a mistake. I assumed that I was a few steps ahead on the chess board, and I wasn't. It was my fault. You got hurt because I made an error in judgment. It doesn't happen often, but...”

Of course Peter still tried to cover his ego. Stiles hid a smirk by ducking his head and nodding. “Yeah, you majorly screwed up buddy. Like, big time. You owe me some pretty huge favors for how big you fucked up.”

When Peter didn't answer, Stiles looked up, about to tell him off if the wolf got angry about him joking, but Peter was smiling at him. A real smile, not a smirk, and Stiles felt thrown off guard. Did Peter really actually dig his weirdness? Stiles added on, “now try to get out of the Alpha problem without pissing me off. Did they do that to you? Please tell me it was them and not the work of the seer or I may take back everything I did today.”

The smile was gone suddenly, and Peter looked up at the ceiling, head tilting back against the couch. That throat and Adam’s Apple was distracting damnit. “It wasn't the hunters. It was the seer. I couldn't find anything to fully explain it, but it happened after I hunted the seer down, I think. Somehow, I think he was telling me the truth about the trials, in the end. He needed magical blood for himself, and wanted you, but he wanted a real excuse in case I actually did manage to drag up information on the ritual. Seems like a complex way to have lured you there, but I suppose he needed a big show to bait me or else I wouldn’t have bought it. There may be some other explanation, but I believe he never intended for me to finish the trials. He needed you for himself to extend his own life. I finished the trials, however, and became Alpha by killing him. He was magical blood after all. I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure how I would behave. Or what you would think.”

“You care what I think?” Stiles asked, and Peter simply looked at him, but didn't say anything. “Not that you shouldn’t, cause you totally should, it’s a requirement to date me but like…I guess I didn’t expect it. At least not so bluntly. So you didn't kill another Alpha for this?”

“No. Just the seer.”

Stiles took in a deep breath. “And...Thomas...was Thomas the first one you've bitten? Or are you growing your pack? You totally wouldn't have been stupid enough to run around as a lone Alpha without a pack for a few months for me, right?”

Again, Peter didn't answer, and Stiles literally face-palmed right then and there. “God, Peter, you're supposed to be the smart one!”

“I wanted to prove to you I wasn't just going to flick on some old switch. Plus, I'm not Derek. I don't decide to make a beta out of every self-conscious teen I can meet and convince them I'm not a weird stalker that over talks with my eyebrows.”

“He does have a pretty amazing eyebrow game,” Stiles sighed.

“Yes...” Peter trailed off before shaking his head and looking back at Stiles. “I'm...better. However, and I'm not going to apologize for it, murder is not a card that I am unwilling to use. It never has, and it never will. But, unless, as tonight's situation called for it, there is need to use such force and violence, I will not go on any sprees because someone spit in my morning coffee.”

“I will accept that,” Stiles answered, leaning against Peter's shoulder. “I went into this knowing that, and I'm not going to say I'm one hundred percent okay with it or anything, but it's better than I was at least hoping for. I fully actually expect you to go on a killing spree if someone spit in your morning coffee...”

Peter smirked. “It'd be more fun to watch the fear in their eyes when I tell them I'm the new, proud owner of the establishment.”

“One day you're going to tell me how much money you make,” Stiles grumbled. “But yeah, that is at least kind of healthier, I suppose. But I'm good with not killing, even if I'm not so perfect on it myself. You should still strive for the goal of ‘no murder’.”

“Well, I am very skilled at hiding bodies in the event you slip up.”

“Please, do not use that as a selling point when you have to help me sell this to my father.”

Peter clicked his tongue against his teeth, “but why? It's one of my best qualifications.”

Stiles grinned and lightly hit the wolf on the chest. “Well,” he started, then realized they were _actually cuddling holy shit_. “I'm so not forgiving you fully yet, you have a lot of making up to do, and trust to gain back. But, I guess I did kind of risk my life for you. And Thomas' more so...”

Before Peter let Stiles slip into the guilt more, the wolf brought a finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Stiles reluctantly brought his gaze to meet Peter's. The wolf raised his eyebrows. “He'll be alright, and more than alright, he'll be a wolf. It's a gift.”

It was impossible to hold back a small smile. The Hales and their gifts. “Thomas is gonna fucking love being a werewolf.”

“I'll be a much better teacher than Derek, I give my word.” Peter pledged, and Stiles nodded. The Alpha kept watching him, like the conversation wasn't over. He finally added in, “this was hardly the only moment we were alone tonight. You found me.”

“Dying from wolfsbane,” Stiles rolled his eyes, but there was some part of him that knew what came next. He knew with every fiber of his being that they were too close. The hair on his arms stood up, his chest felt like a balloon inflated inside.

“This moment won't be the last moment we are alone,” Peter continued. Finally, he leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Stiles' lips. And then another. And then another. Each one torn between rushing, fervent, needing more, and gentle caresses after a long night. Long month. Peter pulled away after a quick peck as a punctuation. “There will be many, many more.”

At some point, Stiles fell asleep curled into Peter’s side, occasionally pressing sleepy kisses to the wolf’s lips. Hell yeah, there would be more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cages and torture. Stiles burns Peter with the wolfsbane knife to counteract it. Also, Thomas is shot and nearly dies.
> 
> Just to let you know, I cried during the entire scene with Jaylen crying over Thomas while I was writing it. It was very painful and I love Thomas a lot.
> 
> Also, this chapter was hella long, sorry.


	3. Your Hand In Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Peter are finally able to settle in for a little bit. You know, while also training a new beta, and dealing with all the clean up from the whole kidnapping thing. But they do get their moment alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, this is the last chapter of book four. Yes, there will be a book five for anyone who has asked! I'm not quite done with you yet :]
> 
> This song is another one of my favorite favorite favorite Explosions in the Sky songs! Please go listen to it! It's amazing. Actually this whole album is amazing. Explosions is the Sky is like the best band ever.
> 
> I will hopefully be starting to post a bit more frequently again! I am all moved in, and it was a mess, but things are better now! (At least here's hoping). Thanks to anyone who asked about the move :]
> 
> Oh! Thanks to all the WONDERFUL comments, and the kudos, you're beautiful people.
> 
> Also, this chapter is owed a great deal to CloveeD! Because I stole some smut stuff from our rps because I suck at writing smut on my own and she gives me fuel, plus I whine to her like nonstop. Get ready for like, 7000 words of (pretty mild actually) smut people.

“YA-WWRROOOOOO.”

The noise was loud. The noise was horrible. The noise was mocking. The noise was pathetic, idiotic, and completely offensive. And the noise came from Peter's, possibly horrible, choice in first Beta. The Alpha momentarily felt like hanging himself, as well as question all of his life choices. Which never happened. Thomas was making him reach lows never experienced before.

The new wolf joyfully, jokingly, howled out before he looked over at Peter with a grin that screamed “I'm an immature asshole, but I’m your immature asshole now” eyes flashing a brilliant golden. Peter watched the boy and could feel himself seethe at Thomas from across the clearing. He imagined he looked murderous, and it was irritating to him that Thomas didn't seem bothered by the look in the least, just kept smiling at Peter and making stupid werewolf jokes. All Betas should have a healthy dose of fear for their Alphas, and this one didn't. It was a travesty. It was an outrage. It was complete catastrophe!

Peter didn't expect any less from his own pack. But that didn't mean he was happy about it.

“Dude, being a werewolf is sweet!” Thomas gloated, once again interrupting their second week of training. The boy had barely managed to control his claws from constantly popping out, but he still acted like he was the greatest gift to werewolf-dom there ever was. Which also made Peter secretly proud. Newly turned wolves angsting over their loss of humanness and rejecting their superhuman skills was so overdone and old. Even _if_ Peter also paid the price of Thomas frequently making dog and wolf jokes, he’d rather deal with that than Scott McCall’s whining any day.

Stiles and Peter had agreed, however, that they would never tell the other boy that Jackson had moved to London or there would be a whole new pile of jokes to add on.

“Once again, I'm _thrilled_ you're enjoying yourself, but it won't be so _sweet_ when you accidentally flash your eyes in public and suddenly you're on your way to Area 51, now pay attention,” Peter sneered at the boy. He wasn't going to let Thomas know that the new Beta actually amused him.

“Area 51 is only for the aliens, dude,” Thomas said with an eye roll he was perfecting like an honorary Hale.

“I think they'd make an exception.”

Thomas smacked his lips before giving a dramatic sigh, making a show of going back to work on controlling the new, more superior parts of his body. Or, as Thomas let everyone know, more superior except one thing, and there was no controlling that-“I'm talking about my dick.”

Yes, Peter was beginning to question his life choices.

It was surprising though, Peter had actually found himself worried about Thomas in the first few days of him receiving the bite. Thomas had been out for far longer than he should have, and Peter hadn't been certain if it was because of the gunshot or his body fighting the bite. There had been no excess of black blood draining from him though, so that was a good sign. Still, Peter had worried, and it wasn't just Stiles' influence either. Thomas had, through irritation and unnecessary pluckiness, proven himself as someone Peter could tolerate, and with Jaylen caring so much about the boy, Peter had actually grown favorable toward him. Peter had decided to blame it on the fear his first Beta wouldn’t make it, and only that.

And he wasn't about to admit to the relief he felt when Thomas had finally opened his eyes after those few days and said something along the lines of, “fuckin' A, what hell did I smoke? I feel like shit.”

Everything had been a bit messy after that. Not that Thomas was upset, actually he was ecstatic. He'd leaped off of the bed when Jaylen told him he was a werewolf, voice filling the apartment, “you mean I'm actually a werewolf?! No joke?! Holy shit! Someone howl at me!”

The boy hadn't even cared that he'd nearly died, at least not about the possibility of dying. He did immediately wrap his arms around Jaylen and apologize to her profusely for it, kissing her cheeks and forehead. Peter was confused as to why he was even apologizing to her for nearly dying, it wasn't actually Thomas' doing, and it wasn’t like he could control it. But Jaylen had nodded into Thomas' chest, holding onto him for dear life. Stiles had actually pulled Peter out of the room to give them space, despite Peter announcing that Thomas needed to start getting his new werewolf qualities under control immediately.

Stiles had glared at him and said, “I think they'll be okay for five minutes.” To which Peter protested, except he’d managed to lose control over the situation. Again.

But really, it was only about five minutes. When Thomas began flashing in and out of red vision, claws and fangs sprouting suddenly, he became somehow, surprisingly, more clumsy. Wolves were supposed to be graceful. It was actually a menace to the apartment and all its inhabitants, and an indication that Peter would never actually raise a proper wolf.

Alas.

Peter's pillows and mattress paid the price most of all. As well as some of their clothes. And a few of Jaylen's braids. And Peter. But it only really took Thomas a week until he wasn't hurting things accidentally. He also made a rule that he couldn't touch Jaylen with his hands for a while, a rule that Jaylen was rather unhappy with, but she didn't really say anything about it. She knew the risks.

It was after that week that Peter really began training Thomas. They still had a bit until the full moon, and even if Thomas was going to have to be locked up for the first couple of them, Peter oddly felt that the boy wasn't really...well, blood thirsty. He hadn't displayed any kind of moodiness, or really any dramatic cockiness. He understood that Peter was Alpha, so what Peter said normally went, but he also wasn't afraid to ask questions. The Beta was also more than prepared to patrol territory with Peter, going on runs with his Alpha and more than prepared to fight if necessary, though things had seemed to calm down around the area.

So maybe Peter's choice in first Beta wasn't so bad after all. Thomas revered the new talents, as well as appreciated being a wolf for what it was. But he didn't have something to prove to people like Isaac and Erica did, nor did he suddenly show up to Peter’s apartment in a whole new wardrobe and a leather jacket. Thomas was comfortable. It was interesting. 

Peter liked it.

Their second week of training was going well though, and Jaylen volunteered herself to help. Similar to Scott with Allison, Thomas' adrenaline skyrocketed whenever Jaylen was near him. She also understood the risks of this, but wanted to help because really she wanted her boyfriend back. Thomas, while being worried for her wellbeing, also knew that Jaylen was tough, and Peter would immediately pull him off if something happened. Not that they were making out in front of Peter, honestly, the Alpha would already have to hear it, smell it, he didn't want to have to see it either. But hand holding, soft touches, anything to get Thomas used to the senses so he didn't become overwhelmed was good.

As Thomas closed his eyes, focused on pulling his claws in and out, Jaylen walked around him, running her hands up his arms, lacing her fingers with his, placing a soft kiss on the back of Thomas' neck. Thomas' lips curled into a small smirk, his head absently trailing after Jaylen's movements. They were so in sync together; it was like watching performance art. Every move Jaylen made, even with Thomas' eyes closed, he sensed her, smelled her, made space for her in his own. She circled him, both of their hearts beating all the faster, as if each touch was their first touch. Jaylen closed her eyes; let her hands run along Thomas' shoulders, his back, down his sides as she continued to circle around him. And then she stopped in front of him, and they simply stood in the same air. She grabbed his hands, brought them up and rested them on her shoulders, then her cheeks, and Thomas only stood there, claws coming in, claws going out, claws coming in, claws going out.

Werewolves weren't known for their healthy relationships. At least not in Peter's experience. There was always the hierarchy to consider. There was always the possibility of betrayal. There was the unspoken rule that letting someone have you completely weakened you. His parents, well, sure, they had loved each other, in a way. Like a king and queen would love each other in literature, or stories you read in history books. They loved each other to lead together, but not more than that. Though Peter couldn't really place certainties about his father any more. Not a face, not a name, not a man. Just an idea.

Talia and her husband, they'd loved. In fact, they were probably the ones Peter thought of when he thought of love. They'd been very close, and very comfortable with each other. They'd joked and played. But they also were serious when necessary. They’d kissed each other goodbye in the morning, and kissed each other hello when they got home. They’d said “I love you” to each other frequently, in hushed tones as if only the other could hear.

But they never looked like this.

Thomas and Jaylen may have been young, but Peter was nearly bewildered by how they fit together. For as much as Thomas joked, and as little as Jaylen tended to display, they were so enamored with the other. It was something he didn't understand. And maybe, something he feared he never would.

Stiles and Peter really hadn't had time alone since the night after the rescue. They'd only been able to share small touches, Stiles occasionally stealing soft pecks of kisses when he could. He gave Peter so many shy grins, attempting to hide them quickly after by ducking his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Stiles smelled like all of the classic signs of liking, truly liking. And Peter wanted the teen, he knew he did, it wasn’t like he was incapable of feeling. Peter even knew something deeper than want coursed through his veins. He liked Stiles, he…

But this kind of dance between Jaylen and Thomas, that sort of raw need, that knowledge that they completely belonged to one another, and only one another, that they were nearly the same person. Peter wasn't sure if he could have that. Or if he should be allowed to have that. Stiles had said he wanted to date, but was the teen actually ready for this? Was Peter?

Or maybe now that this thing between them had actually breached the surface Peter was panicking, and wanted to retreat as fast as possible. After all, giving yourself over to someone was a kind of weakness, wasn't it? And Peter had gotten along so well for so many years by just remaining himself.

Except he had been changing, and that was significantly due to Stiles' presence, and Peter hadn't burst into flames yet. So that had to be a good thing. Right? And Stiles liked him for how he was, mostly. He and Stiles were such a good fit. And Peter never did tend to dwell in doubts; he normally went after whatever he wanted and didn’t think of the consequences.

But there was a lot to consider here. Things he normally didn’t have to consider.

For instance, and all new kind of self-preservation.

***

A few days after the rescue, there had been a visitor at Peter's apartment complex. Two, actually. The emissary from the cage had called Stiles, gotten the address, and Stiles went down to greet her, absolutely elated that she was okay. He was even more excited when he realized that the sphinx was with her. The girl gave him a hug, explained that she was still working on getting some of the worse off, more feral creatures free, but many of the ones capable of existing with humans were safe and set at home. There was, however, the issue of also dealing with those that were incredibly harmful to humans. Could they just be released? It was grey area. One Peter didn’t offer his thoughts on. Instead, he chose to bask in the scent of Stiles’ happiness, the relief, and observe the scene rather than input. It was new for him too.

The sphinx, while being a threat to humans, was really only a threat to those who couldn't answer its riddles while trying to get to whatever it was guarding, and really it was almost pathetic if someone couldn't answer the riddle. Really. And Peter had no problem with the sphinx devouring those that proved to be so pathetic, which he actually did say, even if Stiles gave him a glare for mentioning it.

Quite happily, the sphinx seemed to decide to guard Peter's apartment complex. It settled into position next to the main door, crouched, and still as a statue, ready to ask a riddle to any person who needed to enter. This, of course, could only end horribly when humans realized the statue was talking to them, and not only talking to them but would actually kill them.

Peter debated pulling a Derek and buying the entire building, possibly only filling it with other supernatural creatures that would accept this was his territory. Though it didn’t come to that. Not yet. Stiles had very amusing conversation with the sphinx, trying to plead to it to only ask riddles to those that didn't have keys. Or else the amount of people living in Peter's complex was about to take a drastic downturn. Again, not that the Alpha would complain about it.

After several argumentative riddles, the sphinx finally agreed, even if it wasn't too happy about it, though it was at least a little pacified by Stiles saying he would answer a riddle every single time he came over, and that the sphinx should think of the hardest ones it had.

Then he grinned and winked at Peter, saying, “I'd make me feel like a true Ravenclaw at last.”

How did the wolf like him?

***

Alexandra had been another issue entirely.

Stiles had taken her up to live with Allison and Chris for the meanwhile, allowing her to spend some time with a real hunter group. One that hopefully wouldn't capture nearing a hundred supernatural creatures and store them in a warehouse for several different purposes. Though the biggest reasons Peter and Stiles had managed to come across in their research were possible experimentation in breeding, experimentation in cross breeding, and experimentation on how long they could survive under various circumstances, which Peter seemed to be subject number one of. Marvelous.

Alexandra wasn't really certain of the actual reasons herself, just that they needed to capture the creatures and torture many of them and that “Mason had been given orders that it was for the greater good or whatever so we all had to listen to him.” She had followed along like a good daughter, completely oblivious to the fact that supernatural creatures could, yes, actually feel and had lives they lived apart from terrorizing humans.

Allison had been more than willing to help, been more than willing to prove that fighting for just the good was so much better than destroying, trying to harm them all for some “greater good.” She wanted to show Alexandra the beauty of the supernatural world, the beauty of protecting anything that could not protect itself, human and creature alike. Peter had always found qualities he liked in Allison, and he wasn't opposed to having her teach the new hunter everything.

Chris, on the other hand, might have opposed, but Peter and Stiles didn't really care about Chris' opinion in the slightest.

***

The first night that Thomas felt comfortable enough to go to his apartment, and Peter comfortable enough with the idea of his new Beta possibly running amok, he did. And Jaylen followed, also armed with wolfsbane and a sharp tongue.

Stiles said goodbye to them both before awkwardly hovering some place between the door and the couch, as if unsure if he should leave too. Or maybe fishing for Peter to tell him to sit down, to stay. The wolf watched the teen a moment, trying to take in the once-again quiet apartment all save for Stiles' pacing steps and his quickening heartbeat. They hadn't really talked about anything. They needed to, even if Peter didn't necessarily want to. Talking about emotions wasn't really...amusing.

“So um,” Stiles started, reaching behind him and scratching the back of his head, his eyes avoiding Peter's gaze. It made the wolf smirk, watch him all the more intently, knowing that scrutiny made Stiles skittish. “The dorms don't open for a while and everything. Thomas said I could stay with him but...I don't know if I want to go there right now.” He tried a grin. And Peter felt his own resolve melt a little. How could he say no to the question he knew was coming up? “Mind if I crash on your couch...or _something_?”

Or something. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. The word hung in the air between them, and God, yes, Peter wanted that. Wanted something. Stiles cast some cross between a coy and shy look at the Alpha, and it was only a look Stiles could achieve, with those hooded amber eyes, that ghost of a smirk. So changed from the innocent, young Stiles Peter had first met. And yes, he was still young, and in some ways still innocent. Peter could _devour him_.

“Not at all,” the Alpha mentioned at last from his spot on his chair. He stretched his arms over the arm rests, lifted his chin a bit, maybe as a challenge he wasn't aware he was making. Stiles never could turn down a challenge from him.

It became suddenly obvious how dark the room had gotten, the world shutting down around them, the only light coming from lamp next to Peter's chair, emanating a soft, golden glow around them or the dark, dusk purples from the windows. Stiles seemed to realize it, too, stepping farther into the ring of light, eyelashes rising over his eyes like a curtain, pupils large while shadows stretched over the walls around them. And Peter actually felt his breath catch.

Heaviness rested in the silence, making each slight movement so emphasized. Stiles seemed far away, even if it was just a few feet. The boy hesitated, looked back at the ground. His heart was racing, he swallowed hard. Peter tracked every single movement, filed them away. There were expectations here, on both of their parts. Stiles' lips parted, but no words came out, and instead he took in a sharp pull of breath. For once it seemed like he'd run out of things to talk about too, he was looking for reassurance.

But Peter still didn't move. This all needed to be on Stiles. The Alpha could not make the first move. Not with this. So Peter waited patiently, openly, uncrossing his legs in the event that...

Stiles stepped closer, each move slow, smooth, deliberate, and made his way to Peter's chair until he was standing in front of it, looking down at the werewolf, his face now half glowing with light. He was such a beautiful thing. In no way did Peter deserve him. But if Peter had cheated death, well, he'd cheat life too. The wolf reached up and slid a finger through one of the belt loops on Stiles' jeans, pulling him down, and Stiles followed wordlessly, straddling Peter's lap, hands automatically finding the wolf's shoulders.

There was a moment in which they stared at each other, Stiles' eyes shyly lifting to Peter's hungry, unbroken gaze. Peter's skin felt hot, felt like he was burning, and for once it was a feeling that didn't disgust him. Stiles made him feel like he was on fire. He could feel his own heart beating so wildly in his chest, even just staring at the teen in his lap. Stiles' lips parted again, each rise and fall of his chest so visible that it ached. The boy leaned forward.

And once again, their lips met, with that same reverence as their first, this time being pushed closer with the heaviness of the room, the glow of the light. Stiles tucked his head lower, searching out Peter's lips for kiss after kiss, hot breath escaping after each one. Peter's hand found the back of Stiles' head, his teeth reaching out to grasp Stiles' lower lip, pulling it back slowly. The teen stuttered out a gasp, his hands tightening into Peter's shirt. Stiles had opened at some point during their first kiss, not immediately but at various points, like he wanted to watch Peter so close so that he could believe it, and here now, they kept opening again. Watching Peter with that same disbelief. Peter wanted to prove it to him.

But first...Alone, and with the falling light, it was the only time to talk.

“You don't really want a man like me,” Peter finally whispered between them, searching Stiles' eyes, his face for a reaction. It ached to say, but it was true. Stiles just wanted, didn't he? Peter normally wouldn't have a problem with that. But for once, he actually had emotions to consider, his own emotions at least. Stiles was young, handsome, endearing; he could find many suitors. Ones that weren't, well, Peter. And he would hopefully be just as happy with them. Peter on the other hand, well, one night stands got old.

But Stiles' lips parted, brief hurt flooded his face before he could school it. “Are you...Is that some roundabout way of trying to talk me out of this, so I'll change my mind, because you don't want me?” Stiles' voice was rougher than Peter'd ever heard it, the scratch of it something that made Peter want to dip his head in once more, ignore this conversation.

Stiles changing his mind, Peter not wanting him, these were the last things on Peter's mind, so far from what he was actually thinking. The werewolf took in a breath, closed his eyes, and slowly shook his head. “Quite the contrary,” he answered before looking at Stiles again. “I'm making sure you know what you're doing, because I won't let you go after this moment.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Stiles responded, tightening his grip on Peter's shirt to the point his knuckles almost went white. “And you don't get to decide what I want, alright?”

So much spirit. It was an amazing thing. “Duly noted,” Peter said after a moment taken on admiration. Why did he ever underestimate Stiles? His other hand then slowly slid around the boy's waist, landing on his lower back.

“Now, you going to show me some werewolf strength and stamina or have I made a bad investment of my time?”

And challenging. Peter felt his eyelids lower, a lazy smirk falling over his lips. Oh, he was so done for. Stiles officially would be the death of him. Maybe that was a death that Peter could accept. The wolf pushed Stiles closer, pressing as much of their bodies together as could he managed in the small space of the chair. Stiles smirked, and Peter couldn't help but bring his lips closer to the boy's ear, allowing his lips to pull along the shell as he whispered, “hush, we have _all_ night. And I plan to take advantage of every moment. Are you so convinced I don't get to decide what you want or can I change your mind?”

“Oh shit—“ Stiles gasped, like he didn't expect to say it. His body leaned into Peter's a bit more, searching for something more, and Peter wasn't about to give it to him just yet. The wolf smirked, the hand on the back of Stiles' neck reaching up and gripping onto that messy hair, pulling Stiles' head back. The reward was the stretch of that gorgeous, pale neck, dotted with moles.

“First and foremost, I'm going to scent you. So each and every wolf knows you're _mine_ , alright?” Peter asked, though it wasn't really a question. A shudder went down Stiles' spine, and the boy nodded his head once, eyes still trained on Peter even with his head pulled back. He swallowed, and Peter honed in on the bob of the Adam’s apple.

The Alpha leaned in, his lips barely brushing the skin along Stiles' neck, ghosting hot breaths against the racing pulse he felt. Stiles groaned, the sound practically echoing in Peter's ears as the wolf moved to run his stubble along the boy's skin next, prickling it, teasing. Stiles nearly whined then, releasing Peter's shirt to hit the wolf on the shoulder, making Peter smirk.

Finally, the wolf nuzzled in, mixing their scents together at last. And as the scent got thicker, Peter’s head got fuzzier, couldn't help but turn to licking, biting, scraping blunt teeth in a pattern among the moles. Stiles moaned, whined, curved his hips and ground his ass down against Peter's lap, all the while trying to pull out of Peter's grip to reciprocate. The Alpha refused, enjoying the taste of Stiles' skin far too much. At least until Stiles whined once more.

“Peter,” he gasped out. “Let me--Peter, _please_ just—“

Finally, the wolf pulled away, eased his hold in Stiles’ hair, unable to hide the smug smirk on his lips. “You know, I had this all planned out. Candles, wine, the whole wooing experience. You've truly put a damper on my plans.”

“You're such a snob,” Stiles told him, attempting for bite in his voice but horribly lacking. His hand reached up, ran fingers along the part of his neck now red and ravaged by Peter. Stiles wet his lips, eyes glancing over Peter's face. “Though I will totally accept it anyway.”

“Not at all, the whole idea is ruined,” the wolf said with a dramatic eye roll, and Stiles rolled his as well, a fond smile falling onto the boy’s lips. Lips that had gone unkissed for far too long.

Peter gripped Stiles' jaw before practically lunging in, snatching those lips with his own, and Stiles' small surprised noise turned into a moan somewhere in between. The boy wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders, trying to rid them of the space lingering between their chests.

It was true, Peter might very well destroy Stiles. It was also true that Stiles was far too good for someone like him, and he knew that even if it was deep down. Peter could ruin Stiles' life. And regardless if Stiles knew what he was doing, was prepared for something like that, well, Peter was also terrible and too selfish to care, especially at this point. He'd craved the boy since day one, and cared for him now too. His self-control could only last so long, and Stiles was here, and willing, and he smelled of love, and happiness, and lust. Peter may be a dragon, but Stiles came into his cave defenses down, and Peter couldn't help but hoard treasure when it came to him so freely.

Monster or man, monster and man, both were helpless, both were selfish. And both were hopelessly in love.

The wolf finally moved his hands down, cupping them under Stiles' thighs before hoisting the boy up, rising from the chair himself in a fluid motion. Stiles barely even paused at the movement, though his arms did tighten around Peter's shoulders, just simply sucked Peter's lower lip into his mouth and ran his fingers through the wolf's hair, wherever he could reach.

The intention was to take Stiles into his room, set him down on the silk sheets there, and absolutely ravish him. But he found himself pushing Stiles against a wall in a dark corner of the room, setting Stiles on a low bookcase. The boy tried to speed up, attempted to roll his body against Peter's pressing wherever he could against the wolf, eager to take this to a higher level as quickly as possible. And Peter had entirely different ideas.

As Stiles settled on the top of the bookcase, Peter pulled away, hands running along the tops of Stiles' thighs as he went, head tilted to the side. Stiles' groan faded out before he was opening his eyes, brow furrowing, confused as to why they'd stopped. He scanned Peter's body, like something might be wrong before he squinted at the wolf, jaw tightening.

“What?” The boy asked softly.

“I told you, we have all night,” Peter reminded him. Then the wolf stepped in, cupped Stiles' cheek in his hand, and pulled the teen in for a warm, slow, steady kiss instead. Stiles' took in a deep breath at the same time, then held it, his hand once again landing on Peter's shoulder. It was...romantic. Tender. Each kiss a silent worship.

Then it was Stiles to pull away, and he was actually glaring. Which was amusing really. “Okay, I get this, and I get you want to be hella suave, which you totally are, like message received, but I don't think you realize how long I've wanted to jump you.”  
“So you don't want me to slowly take you apart on my silk sheets until you're shuddering with pleasure and every word in your vocabulary has been wiped from your mind save for my name?”

Stiles' blinked a few times, opened his mouth, closed it again, and then opened it again. “Oh my God, I get it, okay, you can be smooth as hell, just--virgin! I am a virgin still! God, do you want me to beg?” When Peter actually took a moment to consider, Stiles' blush became even visible in the shadows and he shook his head quickly, still trying to glare. “Peter do not even think about it right now, I swear, I am not begging you for sex.”

“But that just sounds so...” Peter raised his eyebrows, looked as innocent as possible while he caged Stiles in against the wall, pressed a thigh between the boy's legs and leaned in close to his ear once more. “Delightful. Watching you beg for my cock would be—“

“Peter—“ Stiles gasped, looking irritated but pressing into the thigh regardless. The glare proved he wasn't happy about it. “Just--God, stop being a dick.”

Peter smirked, but listened, kind of. He at least changed the subject, though he kept mouthing at the shell of Stiles' ear. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want you to press me into the mattress and fuck me already,” Stiles groaned, his fingernails digging into Peter's shirt, and the wolf smirked.

“So impatient and eager,” the Alpha hummed. “We haven't even gotten to the best parts.”

“The whole fucking thing, yeah, I'm kind of expecting that to be the—“

Peter finally reached down and cupped Stiles through his jeans, and the boy stuttered halfway through the sentence and seemed to lose track of where he was actually going. It was rewarding to say the least. “Sweetheart, I have so many things to introduce you to.”

“Y-yeah,” Stiles answered, though he had begun nodding even before Peter had finished his sentence. “And I am totally open to a lot, but--are you even feeling anything from this at all? You are like, not even slightly frazzled.”

“More than you know,” Peter granted him before he gripped the front of Stiles' shirt and pulled him off the bookcase. “It's somehow endearing to watch you fall all over yourself.” Like a wolf watching a baby fawn try to run away from it, not that Peter was about to admit it.

“Rude,” Stiles simply answered, though he let Peter kiss him backward through the apartment. The teen tripped once or twice, both of which Peter needed to catch him, and Stiles suddenly groaned about not being sexy enough. Which was all the more adorable, really.

Peter avoided also saying, “point proven.”

When they reached the bedroom, Peter backed Stiles against the bed, giving the teen a gentle push to knock him back. And as Stiles bounced on the mattress a moment, he scrambled to lift onto his hands, staring up at Peter with wide eyes. “Wait! The light! Can we turn on a light?”

Right. Stiles couldn't see in the dark. So much for ambience. Peter rolled his eyes before moving over to turn on his bedside lamp, because ceiling lights just weren't going to work right now. The wolf gave Stiles a pointed look after, and Stiles glared at him once more.

“You can't honestly be mad that I want to see you're rockin' body, okay?” The teen grumbled before falling back against the bed. “Now take me apart like you said you would.”

This demanding attitude just wouldn't do either, at least not at the moment. Peter raised his eyebrows before stalking over to the bed once more in heavy strides, not bothering to keep his sway, his hunch out of his shoulders, climbing over Stiles on the bed in true predator fashion. The teen opened one eye and grinned up at the wolf, which was just irritating enough for Peter to dip his fingers into the front of Stiles' jeans and jerk him to the side of the bed suddenly. Stiles yelped and grabbed onto the sheets, trying to lift himself up in case he fell. Instead, Peter placed himself between the teen's legs, keeping him right at the edge of the bed, but not completely stable like there was the possibility of falling. The wolf loomed over his smaller prey, shoulders still hunched, body stock still, as if he would lunge at any moment.

“Was there another demand you wanted to make?” Peter asked, narrowing his eyes challengingly.

“N-no, I'm good, I get it, you're big and scary and strong. Big, bad wolf.” Stiles answered, squirming to fit more comfortably on the bed, but Peter didn't loosen his grip on Stiles' jeans.

“And you should remember it,” the wolf smirked. Though, that was most likely enough teasing for now, it was true. They could get into rules and games, could get rougher, when Stiles was a bit more, comfortable, ready, something. But for right now, Peter was intending to make Stiles feel the best he had ever felt in his life, if only because Stiles would recognize Peter as pleasurable, and that could only work out in Peter's favor.

Plus waiting this long was excruciating.

The wolf brought his hands up, lightly gripped the hem of Stiles' shirt and began to pull it up, watching each revealed inch of skin with as much marvel as a long awaited Christmas present. Peter always had liked taking his time unwrapping things. It just increased the anticipation. And when Stiles was finally rid of a shirt, Peter threw it behind him and into the room elsewhere. Out of sight, out of mind, and he didn't want Stiles in a shirt in his sight or mind ever again.

The boy was spread out in front of him, breathing in sharply, goosebumps spreading over flesh, nipples beginning to peak. Gorgeous. Stiles was gorgeous. And Peter intended to drink in every inch. But as the wolf was staring, admiring his prey, Stiles must have felt self-conscious, reaching his arms over to block Peter's view, and that just wouldn't do.

“Tsk, tsk,” Peter clicked his tongue before reaching down, gripping Stiles' arms and holding them out to the side. “You asked for the light on. If you want to see me, I get to see _all_ of you.” The blush on Stiles started at his cheeks and went down, splotching over his neck and chest. Peter smirked and didn't release the boy's arms from the mattress while he leaned down, once again brushing lips over Stiles' neck, his collarbone. “You've nothing to be worried about.”

“But you're like—“ Peter knew where that was going, so he quickly trapped the words in Stiles' mouth with a kiss before moving down again. Peppering kisses over neck, chest, stomach. Stiles groaned at the feeling of Peter's tongue striping its way down along his hip. “Oh fuck, Peter--you're—“

“Supremely Godlike, I'm aware,” he answered, to which Stiles attempted rolling his eyes. The wolf freed one of the boy's arms at last, only to run his fingers down Stiles' side, to the band of his jeans. These jeans were getting in the way, and Stiles needed to be rid of them. He quickly unbuttoned them, yanked the zipper down, and set to work on bringing them off Stiles' hips, though enjoying the small dance Stiles did with his hips to help along the way. The boy arched his back when Peter licked a line along the V of his hip.

Seeing Stiles begin to unravel like this was like watching art in motion. The boy was already overwhelmed with lust and sensation and was still open for so much more. Peter could hardly wait. For once, taking his time was actually a bit of a nuisance. Didn't mean he wasn't going to do it though. Stiles needed prepped, and that was something Peter was going to have fun with.

“How far do you want me to go, darling?” Peter asked quietly while running his fingers along the elastic band of Stiles' boxer-briefs. Batman, go figure. But that didn't stop the teen from looking positively delectable, or make Peter ignore necessary questions. Though the wolf did mouth along the bulge behind the Batman signal. God, there was even a small wet spot beginning to form there.

“I--whatever you want, I mean, I'm open to--I really want you to—“ Stiles began, slowly lifting his hips off the bed trying to coax Peter into more. Silently asking why he stopped in the first place.

Peter smirked watching the scene in front of him, but he didn't give Stiles what he wanted still, simply held onto the teen's hips. “You know, those weren't really complete sentences. If you want me to do something, you need to ask me using big boy words.”  
“F-fuck you,” Stiles answered, swinging his arm uselessly at Peter. He groaned and rose onto his elbows, looking down at Peter between his legs. Stiles' pupils were blown, his neck was red, his lips were bruised and slick, his hair was a mess. God, how many times could Peter be blown away by beauty in one night? “I already told you, I want you to fuck me.”

“As you wish,” Peter said softly, and Stiles stared at him a moment, unsure of what to say in response before Peter was pulling down the boxer-briefs and nuzzling against Stiles' thigh. The boy let off a short sort of groan before falling back against the mattress once more.

Stiles' cock was so young, and long, and a beautiful shade of pink, all surrounded by dark, thick hair. And God, there were even a few moles along his shaft too. Peter took his time scanning his eyes along the length of Stiles' body now that it was completely revealed to him. Long, lean, lithe. Pale as the moon. Peter finally leaned down, ghosted his lips along the underside of the shaft, the head, and Stiles whined, gripped tightly to the bedspread.

“Shit, Peter, I didn't think you'd—“ Stiles started in between his crescendoing noises. The boy's arms at some point crossed over his face while his hips kept trying to wiggle up. Peter smirked before pinning the teen's hips down again sharply, digging his thumbs into the hipbones to let Stiles know to keep still.

Then the wolf finally took Stiles into his mouth, sucking down the head of his cock quickly and making Stiles gasp out, groan something that probably was “oh my God,” but didn’t quite sound like it. Peter could only keep smirking around the cock, pleased that Stiles was just as verbal during sex as he was regularly, except, well, maybe a bit less coherent. Which, again, pleasing. Peter bobbed his head lower, tuning into the multiple noises coming out of the teen while he picked up a rhythm, took in the scent of lust, arousal, heat coming off Stiles. The boy kept pushing his hips up against Peter's hands, desperately seeking more, but this was all on Peter's terms at the moment, and he wasn't that nice.

When Stiles' moans began to become softer, whimpering mewls; Peter pulled off and stood up, which only earned him a whine and a quick jerky movement from the center of the bed. Stiles' head immediately shot up to see what was going on, and maybe that was an attempted glare.

“W-why are you stopping again?” Stiles asked quickly, his heart rate picking up with something that might be fear. Or nervousness. He reached out toward Peter.

“I'm getting lube,” Peter answered, raising his eyebrows and staring down at the boy. “Unless you didn't actually want me to prep you, in which case, that might be painful for the both of us.”

“Oh,” Stiles looked slightly dumbfounded before nodding. “Yeah, yeah, cool, no, that's necessary.”

“Condom?” Peter added, nodding his head toward the bedside table.

Stiles gnawed his lower lip a moment before looking down. “Would you super judge me if I said yes?”

“Not at all.”

“Would you super judge me if I said no?”

Peter couldn't help just staring at him, wondering just how much of Stiles' brain was working at the moment. What a ridiculous question. “Yes, or no?”

“I...kind of want to feel you...I mean, I want you to come in me.”

Done. The Alpha had to take a moment to keep himself from just pouncing and mounting. He used the lube as a distraction, walking over to the table and pulling it out of the drawer before walking back over to side of the bed. He leaned over the boy, gripped Stiles around the waist, and half dragged him up onto the bed properly, Stiles head falling onto the pillows.

“Wow, okay, so I am totally cool with manhandling,” Stiles gasped out, leaning back. His hands found Peter's shoulders and he wet his lips. “Can you...can I take this off?” He asked, pulling on the shirt a little bit.

The wolf moved up a bit, allowing Stiles to grip the hem of the shirt and pull it up over Peter's head and shoulders, though the wolf pulled back to take it off his arms after, hesitating just a second for Stiles to look at him. Which the boy did, giving his own version of a predatory stare, smirking at the sight.

“Dude, you are so hot,” he mumbled. “Totally fucking score for Stiles Stilinski.”

“You do not get to call me dude again during sex, or I'll punish you.”

Stiles' eyes widened slightly before the little smirk turned wicked. Good. That was just what Peter was aiming for. “What are you gonna do? Spank me?”

“And then some,” Peter answered, moving back down Stiles' body while also smearing a generous amount of lube over his fingers.

As the wolf took Stiles' cock in his mouth again, he also pressed the pad of one finger against Stiles' hole, and was unable to hold back one of his own small moans. He'd wanted this sweet heat for so long, wanted Stiles for so long. Slowly, gently, he pressed the finger in, looking up occasionally at Stiles' face for any discomfort, but the boy's lips were in a perpetual, beautiful 'O,' his hips angling up slightly.

“I've-I've done this before,” Stiles answered shakily, and Peter paused for a moment. “I finger myself a lot.”

What an amazing sentence to hear. Peter needed to close his eyes and focus, but instead he pulled his mouth off and started a rhythm with his finger. “A lot, do you?” He asked lowly.

Stiles swallowed and nodded.

“And lately, do you think of me?”

Again, Stiles nodded. “And not just lately.”

The wolf felt something inflate in his chest, felt goosebumps over his skin. Stiles smelling like arousal wasn't necessarily uncommon, he always had, frequently. But there had been something so much more in the past few weeks. Stiles would leave on an errand and come back too late, or Peter would come back from training Thomas, and Stiles would smell of arousal, the apartment would smell of arousal, or Stiles’ car, and it would drive Peter mad, and he was unable to do anything about it.

Until now.

“You do realize how torturous that was,” Peter stated, then turned to give a soft bite to Stiles' thigh.

“Figured I could pay you back later,” Stiles grinned. And he really couldn't help it, but Peter felt his eyes flash, an overwhelming possessiveness rushing through him. A need. A want. A desire. Stiles' grin dropped immediately, a shiver went down the boy's spine. “Oh, shit, Peter, I'm getting so close. Can you just-”

“You don't get to come yet,” Peter growled softly, sitting up from where he was crouched, though he did add in another finger, and Stiles let out a stuttered breath. He also wrapped two fingers around the base of Stiles’ cock.  
“But Peter—“

The wolf flashed his eyes once more in warning, and Stiles whine, or moaned, something in between. The Alpha moved his way up, capturing Stiles' mouth with his own again, kissing him senseless, and yet keeping his hips angled away, not letting Stiles reach for any friction, and the boy whined against the wolf's lips. Peter worked his two fingers, stretching Stiles' out, getting him used to the sensation of thicker fingers. And when he felt loose enough, Peter worked in a third.

This made Stiles gasp, wince slightly, so the wolf slowed, took his time, nipped at Stiles' lips as a distraction. It was only when Stiles was completely relaxed again that Peter worked back up to pace, worked to find Stiles' prostate to brush against it.  
When Stiles’ whole body jerked, and the gasped unexpectedly, gripping onto Peter's shoulders to hold on for dear life, Peter knew he'd found it. Good, he'd have to remember it.

As the wolf continued to work Stiles open, watched the boy shudder and moan, and fall completely to his mercy, Peter couldn't help but growl low in his chest. Honestly, he would be satisfied with just pleasuring Stiles for hours, watching the teen surrender to him again and again. Peter practically lost focus, lost ability to think of anything else in the world but what he was doing to Stiles right here. Nothing else existed but Stiles' moans, and the jerks of his body, his fingernails digging into Peter's shoulders.

“Peter-“ Stiles stirred him from his thoughts. “I'm ready, I'm ready, I want your dick.” Flushed, and panting, and moaned-out, Stiles pushed at the wolf's hips while also desperately riding against Peter's fingers, grinding down on them with his head tilted back against the pillows.

The Alpha nodded, not wanting to waste another moment, and gently slipped his fingers from Stiles as well as pulling away nearly completely as he got onto his hands and knees. Stiles whined, falling back against the mattress, already boneless and they were still in the beginning stages. Peter unbuttoned his jeans, slid them down off his hips and threw them somewhere. Stiles looked at him and moaned again, eyes trailing over the curve of his cock still hidden behind Peter's own black boxer-briefs.

“Wait,” Stiles said quickly, sitting up, though it looked like a struggle. “Can I taste you first?”

Peter felt his eyebrows lift. That was a wonderful idea. Why hadn't he thought of it before? “Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

Stiles nodded, though he seemed to have ignored the answer anyway, eyes locked on the thing they wanted. The teen sat up a bit more, pushing Peter up until he was kneeling, gripped the wolf’s hips and pulled the man closer, and Peter smirked. Only someone out of their mind would say no to Stiles' lips. Not that that was a really good supporting case for Peter, but still. He wasn't that far gone.

Slipping his thumbs into the waistband, Stiles looked up at Peter with wide eyes, slowly pulling the fabric off over the wolf's hips. Peter took in a breath at the cooler air, but didn't move, didn’t respond when Stiles gasped and said, “Jesus. And you trim? Should have expected that, _Christ_.” Didn't take his eyes away from Stiles, even when Stiles put his hand on Peter's chest, pushing him, coaxing him back against the bed himself, slowly, gently. And then the teen crawled over, stared intently at the cock which was fatter than his own. He reached a hand around the base of it, making Peter release a soft groan, low in his chest.

Then those beautiful, plush lips were experimentally wrapping around the head of Peter's dick, and the wolf shuddered. Stiles wasn't very practiced, not that it mattered. Peter was patient. He waited calmly while Stiles positioned his head the best way, gripped Peter's cock the best way, blocked his teeth, lapped at the base of the head with his tongue. Stiles was sloppy, but beautiful. Peter leaned his head against the headboard, taking in deep breaths. Technique could always be made up for with vigor and enthusiasm.

Though a few minutes later, Stiles was pulling away, rubbing his jaw gently. Peter smirked at the sight before gripping the boy's arm and pulling him up, kissing him roughly. “We'll work up to it,” he said when he pulled away, and Stiles swallowed before nodding quickly.

Peter rolled the both of them over, pinned Stiles to the mattress, and continued his worshipping kisses all over the boy's lips. Stiles lazily kissed back, hands searching over the expanse of Peter's back. The wolf, finally, adjusted his hips and lined the head of his cock up with Stiles' hole before he began to press in. Stiles whined, pressed his lips all the harder against Peter's, and the wolf took it slow. Painstakingly slow, rolling his hips in small little bursts while filling up the tight, slick warmth.

When he was finally in all the way, the wolf moaned, dropping his forehead to Stiles' chest, glancing at the sight between them. He was inside Stiles. He was buried inside Stiles for the first time.

After taking a moment to allow the boy to adjust, Peter began rocking his hips, moving smoothly to try and make the thrusts easier. Stiles wince a few times, but when he seemed to get used to the feeling, he tipped his head back against the pillows, mouth opening once more, neck stretched out and bared. Perfect.

Peter growled softly, licking, biting, sucking along neck, shoulder, collarbones. When Stiles came to a bit more, he reciprocated, reaching and biting Peter's ear, the nape of the wolf's neck. Each trying to consume the other.

At some point, Stiles shoved Peter over, rolling them to the side so he could be on top. Peter smirked up at the boy from his new place on the bed, tilting his head to the side. Stiles took a few moments adjusting to the new position, wrapping his knees comfortably around Peter's waist before he tried a few experimental bounces. After adding a bit more lube, he began grinding down, riding Peter's cock and moaning, shuddering, gasping for breath. He leaned over, pressing his forehead to the Alpha's shoulder while trying to maintain a rhythm.

Keeping a tight grip on Stiles' hips, and helping him with the rhythm a bit, Peter watched the boy, beyond ecstasy at this point. When Stiles began to slow, the wolf sat up, pressing his lips to Stiles' and moving Stiles' hips for him. Stiles whined and reached down to jack himself off. And well, Peter couldn't have that. The Alpha smirked against the boy's lips before whispering, “come on, sweetheart come for me. I want you to come for me.”

The teen barely brushed his cock before he was moaning into Peter's mouth and coming between their stomachs, slick, wet cum smearing against Peter’s navel.

“Good boy,” Peter growled, low and pleased, as the scent hit him, as Stiles jerked and writhed against his body, tightening the grip around the wolf's cock impossibly tighter. Stiles rode out the high, one arm wrapped tightly around Peter's shoulders still to hold himself up, at least until he was coming down and practically collapsed against the wolf.

“Oh my God, Peter,” Stiles said, voice wrecked and fucked out. “You now--I want to feel you-I want you to come inside me.”

So much for lasting much longer, he felt so close already. The wolf shuddered at the words, pulled Stiles closer to him before rolling them back over, putting Stiles on his back. The teen wrapped his legs around Peter's hips, trying to keep up with the rhythm the best he could while so exhausted.

“I want to-smell like you. Want everyone to know I'm yours—and you’re mine“ Stiles continued, mumbling.

“I’m yours,” Peter echoed. And it was so strange that that was it. That was the thing that tipped Peter over the edge. The wolf growled loudly, eyes flashing, his orgasm hitting him so sharply, so powerfully. He lost vision briefly, buried himself as deep inside Stiles as he could before stilling, holding the both of them there while he was lost in white hot bliss.

When he came back to his senses, it was to Stiles turning his head in and kissing Peter softly on the lips. The boy grinned lazily and said, “you know, I'm counting the momentary loss of control as a compliment.”

“You should,” Peter grumbled, though he felt momentarily dizzy. He slowly lowered down against Stiles' body, the both of them breathing heavily, slick against each other with sweat and cum.

They rested there, just the two of them, lost in each other's breathing, the rhythm of their hearts. Peter was surprised they matched up so well together. Stiles was speechless for the time being, trying to calm his body down from the activity. The teen glanced down between them and smirked before wrinkling up his nose.

“I really need a shower now, man” he grumbled.

“That can be arranged,” Peter answered, gently lifting off the boy, and then pulling out of him with a wet noise. Stiles groaned softly before rolling onto his side.

“I think I need another moment to get feeling back in my legs.”

“Can also be arranged,” Peter said softly. And while he was looking at the boy, he felt strangely compelled to do something that had never previously fallen into sexual plans before. He reached out, and grasped the teen, pulling him close, tangling their bodies together. Stiles buried his head somewhere between Peter's shoulder and the pillow, immediately cuddling into the Alpha as close as he could. 

“Should’ve known you'd want to cuddle after sex, ya big softie” Stiles grumbled into Peter's shoulder, and the wolf could hear the grin in his voice.

Usually though, Peter didn't want to cuddle after sex. He wanted the other person to be as far away from him as possible. This had always been the plan. And well, Stiles didn't fit into his plans.

The wolf even went as far as to reach down and lace his finger's with Stiles', holding their hands together. When was the last time Peter had ever held anyone's hand?

It was like Stiles felt the significance, somehow. The teen pulled his head from Peter’s shoulder, rested it on the pillow in a way to look into Peter's eyes, searching them for...something. With him so close, looking at Peter so intently, he was still somehow so beautiful, so adorable even with slightly crossed eyes, his mouth held open to catch up with the air. Stiles was so beautiful, and warm, and inviting. Stiles was so alive. Stiles was the thing that reminded Peter the earth was not a cold, dead place, filled with lost memories, and ashes, and burned up remains. Peter was not a husk of a man anymore, unfeeling, and made of stone. How someone like Stiles could love someone like him…Even if for a day, the world had been fooled. Fate had made a mistake. And Peter would take advantage of it while he could.

The teen gave Peter’s hand a squeeze, buried his face a bit farther into Peter’s pillows like he was embarrassed again, shy at being so thoroughly observed, but unable to take his eyes off Peter for a moment. Those flushed cheeks. That afterglow, shy smirk.  
Peter wanted him all over again.

The wolf leaned forward and stole another kiss, a quick peck, a punctuation, a confession he wasn't quite ready for. Stiles grinned right after it, ran his thumb over Peter’s knuckles. For a moment, they simply lay there in each other’s warmth, space, silence.  
Minutes passed before Stiles spoke again, and Peter was stirred from his tired state.

“Not to ruin the mood but,” Stiles whispered, like he was afraid of anyone else hearing them speak but the air in the room, looking down at their hands, and then back up at Peter. “My dad wants me to come home for a bit before school starts back up. I told him I would.”

Peter looked down between them as well, nodding his head once. “Are you going to tell him? The wolves will be able to know. They'll probably let him know if you don’t.”

Stiles wet his lips, looking off at a distant point and then nodded as well. “Yeah, I'm going to tell him. And Scott.”

“I admire the gumption,” Peter said dryly, though he actually was quite proud that Stiles planned to announce them. Oddly. “Are you nervous?”

Stiles grinned a moment, looked Peter in the eyes once more, and gave his hand a squeeze. “Nah, man. Goblins, ghouls, ghosts. My dad. Scott. I'm not afraid of anything.”

“Not anything, you say?” Peter smirked.

“Nope,” Stiles assured, pulling the wolf’s hand up and giving it a kiss on the palm. “Not with your hand in mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Book IV.


End file.
